


Semi Charmed Life

by Avalonia



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol, All the swears, Angst and Humor, Bipolar Disorder, Domestic Gallavich, M/M, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Multi, Not Politically Correct, Past Domestic Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sexual Content, physical violence, post 4x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 115,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avalonia/pseuds/Avalonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey, Ian, Mandy, Svetlana.  Four people bound together, two by love, one by blood, and one by force. </p><p>It's summer on the South Side, and with his bipolar disorder mostly stabilized, Ian and Mickey look forward to their future together.  But happily ever after doesn't come so easily when there's a wife, baby, and sister with issues of her own to deal with.  Add Ian's interfering family, and the looming threat of Terry's return, and the foursome have their hands full as they discover that love may not be enough after all...</p><p>Post 4x12;  speculative season 5.  My first Shameless fanfic!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Family Milkovich

 

Sunlight slowly dawned on Chicago, creeping through quiet streets and illuminating rooftops, cascading down to crawl through drawn drapes and blinds to tap on the eyelids of sleepers.  Little by little, the Southside sprang to life...streets filling with cars and the shrieks of playing children, windows thrown open and radios turned on, all punctuated by the roar of trains passing by overhead and the occasional siren.  

But in the Milkovich household, silence still reigned.  Morning was almost gone, and the only sign of activity in the house was the flies buzzing around the dirty dishes in the kitchen.

That was, until the angry shriek of a baby began to echo off the walls, insistent and demanding.

In Mickey's bedroom, there was a muffled groan from the figures who'd pulled the sheets over their heads already to avoid the persistent sunlight.  "Mmmmpf.  Hey.  You."

"No.  You."

"You!"

"Play for it."

"Fine."

Two hands emerged from beneath the sheets.  "One...two...three...ha!"   Ian grinned triumphantly.  "Paper beats rock.  You're up."

Next to him, Svetlana sat up, scowling.  "Stupid game.  How can paper beat a rock?"

"It covers it, see?"  Ian demonstrated, but she just continued to glare.

"If I had a rock, I could bash your orange head," she narrowed her eyes at him.

Ian laughed.  "OK.  I'm going."  With that, he crawled over Svetlana, reaching for his discarded clothing.

"Nice," she said appreciatively, eyeing his ass as he pulled them on. 

Ian shook his head at her.  "Hey...let him sleep, OK?"  With a jerk of his head, he indicated the other figure in the bed, still covered by the sheet.

Svetlana shrugged.  As soon as he exited, she yanked the sheet off the bed, exposing Mickey's face to the light.  "The fuck?"  he groaned.

"Get up, lazy ass.  It's late.  Baby's awake."

Mickey groaned, opening his eyes fully only to scowl as his wife's face swam into view.  "What the fuck are you doing in here again?"

Svetlana shrugged as she climbed out of bed, pulling her silk robe around her.  "I got cold."

"It's been 90 degrees at night!"

"Lonely then.  Not used to sleeping alone since Nika left."

"She didn't leave, we threw her ass out, remember?  Leave it to you to hook up with a crackhead who stole everything she could get hands on."

"She was fun.  I miss her."  Svetlana fluffed her hair out.

"Bullshit.  We both know you brought her home just to piss me off.  Lesbian, my ass."

Svetlana grinned now, stretching.  "Maybe I switch teams again.  Make an orange baby with your Carrot Boy."

"Get the fuck out!"  Mickey threw his pillow at her and Svetlana ducked, then exited, giggling in a most annoying manner.

Mickey glared after her for a moment.  God, she was a fucking hassle.  They'd reached an uneasy peace these last few months - he helped take care of their kid, albeit reluctantly, and she stayed off his back for the most part.  But he liked it best when they were living separate lives, and lately, she'd become a serious Stage 5 clinger, underfoot every time he turned around.  

It was all Ian's fault, Mickey thought as he dressed.  Once she'd given up on trying to keep him and Mickey apart, it was like the two of them fell in fucking love or some weird shit.  During the darkest days, when Ian was practically comatose, she hovered constantly.  Without even realizing it, Mickey began to rely on her.  If he or Mandy couldn't be there, she was, taking care of Ian just as devotedly as they did, cajoling him to get out of bed, nagging him to take his medication or keep his appointments at the clinic, alternately fussing at him or hitting on him like a slutty mother hen.

And Ian fucking responded to her in a way that he wouldn't to anyone else.  He ate the weird Russian food she made for him, he let her take him to his doctor, he laughed at her over the top hooker come-ons.  He'd get out of bed to help her take care of Geno when he wouldn't even look at anyone else.  As happy as Mickey had been to see pieces of the boy he'd known so well begin to emerge again, he couldn't help but seethe with jealousy.  He had tried in every way he could to be everything Ian needed.  Why couldn't it have been him that Ian turned to?

It was Mandy who had helped him put into perspective.  "She doesn't mean anything to him, Mick.  He's not worried about what she thinks, or about disappointing her, or  losing her.  There's no pressure to act a certain way, no expectations.  It's easy for him to be with her,"  she'd smiled sadly at him.  "I know.  I miss him too.  But he'll come around."

And he had.  It had happened in pieces and tiny bits...the day Ian first looked Mickey in the eyes without flinching, when he held Mandy's hand as the three of them walked to the store, when he laughed watching Mickey swear at the top of his lungs as he tried to put Geno's crib together after the kid outgrew his bassinet.  And if Mickey had ever doubted how Ian would feel about him once he was better, he got his answer the first time Ian touched his face willingly, how he'd curl into him in the middle of the night, and the day he'd surprised Mickey in the shower, shoving him against the stall and fucking him breathless without a word.

Of course, Svetlana hadn't been the only one interfering in their relationship.  Fiona and Lip had been a nonstop presence, in stark contrast to their neglect of Ian in the past.  Mickey had tried to be grateful for the support, but the two of them were the nosiest, most opinionated fucks he'd ever had the misfortune to meet.  They had something to say about every fucking decision he had made for Ian, and usually it was something along the lines of how he was doing it wrong.  Then Ian's asshole therapist had come up with some bullshit about how Ian and Mickey's relationship was co-dependent and toxic and the next thing he knew, Lip and Fiona yanked Ian back home, holding Fiona's legal guardianship over his head until Ian was forced to give in or risk a professional evaluation that could land him in the hospital.

He'd been back home with Fiona and her increasingly full house, Sheila and Frank having been forced to move in after Sheila lost her house to foreclosure, for the past couple of months.  Not that this had kept him and Mickey apart - Fiona could force him to go home, with Lip backing her up, but she couldn't stop him from sneaking out or Mickey openly walking in and daring them to do something about it.  Eventually she'd relented a bit and things became slightly less hostile between the four of them.

Until three days ago, when Mickey had opened his front door to find Ian standing on the porch, overstuffed duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey,' he'd said simply as Mickey stared.  "I'm back.  I mean, if you still want me..."

Mickey had chuckled with amazement and threw the door wide open.  "Get the fuck in here, Gallagher."

As he helped Ian unpack, he couldn't help but ask.  "Fiona and Lip ok with this?"

Ian didn't look up from the clothes he was pulling out of the bag.  "I turned eighteen last week, so I officially don't have to give a shit."

"So that means no, then."

"Don't we have something better to do than talk about my family?"  Ian tossed the shirt he was holding aside and reached for Mickey, his long fingers gliding along his belt and tugging it out of the loops.

"Hell yeah, we do."  With that Mickey shoved Ian back onto the bed, their lips crashing together, and everything else instantly forgotten...

"Morning, fuckface,"  Mandy shook Mickey out of his thoughts, sticking her head in the doorway.  "Can I borrow the Beatermobile for a few hours?"

Mickey gave her a pointed look.  "You think I should lend you my car when you insult it like that?  Where you going, anyway?  You don't have to work until tonight."

"None of your business," she smirked back.

"As long as your business ain't Kenyatta, it's all yours.  You owe me a tank of gas though,"  Mickey tossed her the keys from his nightstand.

Mandy was frowning now.  "I'm done with Kenyatta, asshole.  You don't have to keep bringing it up."  With that, she flounced out of the room.

"Took you long enough,"  Mickey mumbled to himself.  He and his brothers had run Kenyatta off at gunpoint, but Mandy was stubborn as any Milkovich, and she'd snuck around with him until the night he broke her nose for some imaginary slight and she'd finally had enough.  Since then it was business as usual for her, random hook ups every week but no one serious.  Thank God, because the last thing any of them needed was more fucking drama.

"Tell me we have coffee,"  Mickey stumbled into the kitchen, where Mandy was pouring herself a bowl of cereal.  Ian wasn't in sight; he was probably helping Svetlana with the baby.

"We do if you make it,"  Mandy grinned and pointed at the coffee maker.  

"Great,"  Mickey had just peeled the lid off the coffee can when he heard the front door open.  Mandy looked up from her bowl of cereal and he tensed automatically until he saw Fiona enter.

"Don't bother to knock or anything,"  Mandy snickered as she sauntered past to fling herself on the couch, still holding her bowl.

"Why should I?  Neither one of you ever do,"  Fiona shot back.  Her eyes met Mickey's.  "I came to see Ian."

Mickey cracked his knuckles lightly, feeling the tension return.  "Why?  So you can have the same conversation you've already had twenty times?  It's not going to change shit; it's just going to piss him off."

Fiona sighed, running her fingers through her dark hair.  "Mickey, let's not do this again.  It's not that I don't appreciate everything you've done for Ian these past few months.  You've been incredible, really.  But what you've got going on here - you're married, with a baby...that's huge.  It's not a responsibility that Ian should have to be worrying about right now on top of everything he's going through."

Mickey clenched his teeth, but of course she wasn't done.  "I'm not saying that you guys can't - you know, keep seeing each other.  I'm just saying I think he needs to be where he can concentrate on his recovery without all the distractions.  He needs to be at home."

Mickey didn't trust himself to keep looking at her, knowing it wasn't going to take much for him to explode.  He settled for looking at a spot on the wall above her head.  "Well, what you want means fuck all, Fiona, because Ian wants to be here.  He's 18 now, old enough to decide for himself.  And since when has the Gallagher house ever been drama free anyway?"

Mandy snorted at that and Fiona shot her a blistering glare before turning back to Mickey.  "At least he'd be safe!"  she moved closer to him now, lowering her voice.  "Mickey, what are you guys going to do when Terry gets out of jail?  It could be any day now.  This is his house!"

Mandy stood up abruptly, walking back into the kitchen where they heard her bowl crash into the sink before she stomped to her room, banging the door closed behind her.

Mickey hesitated for a moment, looking after her.  "We're moving," he said finally.  "Already found an apartment on Grenshaw.  It's shitty, but it's got enough room for all of us.  Me, Ian, Svetlana, Mandy and the kid too.  I'm paying off the deposit on Friday - we can move in next week."

"What?"  Fiona stared at him accusingly.  "You were just going to up and leave and not say anything to us?"

"Jesus, it's eight blocks away; it's not like I'm dragging him off to Siberia."

Fiona pressed her lips together.  "I want to talk to Ian."

Mickey made an exaggeratedly polite sweeping motion towards the bedrooms.  "I'm not stopping you."

Fiona started to turn that way but just then Ian and Svetlana emerged from her bedroom, Ian carrying a fully dressed Geno in his arms.  The baby was chattering away at them, complete with hand gestures.  

"Oh, so that's how it is, huh, Geno?"  Ian grinned in response to Geno's incoherent soliloquy and the baby got even more excited, bouncing in his arms and babbling out a loud response.  He hadn't noticed Fiona yet, and she studied his carefree demeanor, feeling a sharp ping noticing the way his eyes sparkled in a way they hadn't in months.

When Ian did catch sight of her, his smile immediately faded.  He handed Geno to Svetlana and walked over, shoving his hands in his pockets.  "Hey, Fiona."

Fiona swallowed hard at his closed expression, her mouth drying up.  "You look - happy," she finally managed.

Ian's mouth quirked.  "Am.  Or at least I was," he gave her a pointed look.  "What do you want?"

Fiona looked back at Mickey, who was leaning against the wall, his arms folded.  He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I just - " she took a deep breath as she faced her brother again.  "I just wanted to say congratulations," she forced a smile, blinking back the tears in her eyes.  "Mickey says you guys are moving.  That's exciting; your own place!  You're going to need tons of stuff - furniture, dishes...I'll talk to Sheila.  Most of her stuff is in storage since she's living with us; I'm sure she can spare something.  Plus we can hit up yard sales, the Salvation Army...make a day of it.  What do you say?"

Ian looked stunned for a moment before a wide smile slowly spread across his face.  "Um...wow, that would be great.  We're pretty much starting out with nothing, so we can use all the help we can get."

"Great!"  Fiona nodded, her own smile genuine now.  "Well, I'd better get home and start making some calls.  I'll talk to you guys tonight, OK?"  With that, she hugged Ian tightly.  "Don't be a stranger, OK?  I kinda got used to seeing you every day."

Ian grinned down at her.  "I'll be around.  Not moving to Siberia, you know."  

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mickey smirk at that.  "So I hear,"  she said drily and with a wave, she headed out the door. 

She had just reached the gate when she heard the door open again, and turned to see Mickey on the porch.

"Hey," he looked down at her.  "Thanks."

She nodded.  "I'm still worried," she admitted.  "But you're right.  This isn't up to me.  And...he really does look happy.  Just - take care of him, OK?"

"Always."

And with that, Mickey disappeared back into the house.

 

 


	2. A Slippery Slope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A playful morning turns sour when Mickey inadvertently sticks his foot in his mouth with both Mandy and Ian. But even that ensuing argument shouldn't have been able to trigger the landslide that it does...

“Hey, you gonna sleep all day?”

Ian opened his eyes to see Mickey leaning over him.

“Hmmm…” he mumbled, strongly considering answering yes.  After all, he had no place to be.  It could be just another lazy morning, no hurry to get up.  He’d been back at the Kash and Grab for a couple of weeks now, and it was his first full day off.  He didn’t know quite how to feel about his inglorious return to the world of minimum wage.  At least he was back to making an income again, putting some money into the pot and not feeling like such a worthless leech, letting everyone else take care of him.

Another peek through his nearly closed eyelids allowed him to register the barely masked anxiety on Mickey’s face.  Great.  If he stayed in bed, Mickey was going to start wringing his hands, worried that Ian was crashing again.   Fuck being bi-polar; you couldn’t do one normal ass thing like sleep in without people losing their shit.

“OK, I’m up.”  Ian sat up in bed.  “Happy now?”

"So what's the news?"  Mickey stood up, yawning.  "Got any big plans for your day off?"

Ian smiled slightly, knowing full well that what Mickey was really asking was if _they_ had any plans for today.  "Not for a while.  Promised Fiona I'd watch Liam later.  It'll give me a chance to hang out with Debbie and Carl too.  Want to come?"

Mickey considered the thrilling possibility of running into Fiona and getting Lecture #893897 about who knows the fuck what this time.  "Nah, I'm going to hang out here and just start packing or some shit.  We gotta be ready to haul ass out of here soon.  Plus Svetlana and I have to be at the Alibi by two."

"Whatever.  First you don’t let me sleep in, then you bail on me.  If you’re going to leave me to face my family alone, you're going to have to make it up to me."

Mickey grinned broadly as Ian grabbed him, wrestling him backwards towards the bed.  Despite the fact that they'd been going at it for most of the night, he still found himself rock hard as soon as his boyfriend's hands made their way to his waist.  Thank fuck for being twenty years old - youth was nature's viagra.

Just as things were starting to get good, their partially ajar bedroom door banged fully open to reveal Mandy, hands on her hips.  The two of them jumped up from the bed, Mickey swearing loudly.  “Get the fuck out!”

"Hell no!  You two already kept me awake until the ass crack of dawn with your all night fuck fest.  If I'm not getting any, I don't see why I should have to listen to your play by play."

Mickey gave her a look that could peel wall paper as he picked up his discarded shirt.  "Thanks for the cockblock, bitch."

Mandy saluted him with a middle finger in return.

"I take it your 'date' yesterday was a bust?"  Ian tried hard to interject some genuine empathy in his voice, which wasn't easy, considering she was directly responsible for his currently raging blue balls. 

"Please," Mandy rolled her eyes.  "That two minute motherfucker wasn't even worth changing my underwear for.  I might as well have stayed in bed with my Trojan Twister."

"Jesus, Mandy, I do not need to hear that shit!"  Mickey winced violently as entirely unwanted mental imagery of his sister and her toys rapidly disintegrated what was left of his morning wood.

"Yeah, well, I didn't need to hear you moaning 'suck it, Gallagher' at 3 o'fucking clock in the morning either." 

"Christ!" Mickey considered the highly likely possibility that he may never be able to get hard again in his life unless he could immediately erase all memory of this conversation.  He looked at Ian.  "Remind me why we're taking her with us when we move again?"

Ian chuckled at that, but to both their surprise, the color immediately drained from Mandy's face. 

"Fuck you," she spat, and left the room, slamming the door behind her.  

Mickey immediately yanked it back open to see her disappearing down the hallway.  "Mandy, c'mon, that was a fucking joke!"

The only response was the slamming of her bedroom door.  Bewildered, he looked at Ian.  "What the fuck has been up with her lately?"

Ian shook his head.  "Don't know," he sighed.  "I'm worried about her."

"Well, don't," Mickey shook his head.  "She'll get over whatever it is.  No need for you to stress yourself out."

Ian frowned, following Mickey as he walked into the living room.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What?"  Mickey stopped, confused by Ian's sudden defensive tone.

" 'Don't stress myself out?' Like I can't handle it?"

"Fuck, Ian, that’s not what I said!"

"But that's what you meant, isn't it?  You're just like everyone else - treating me like I'm too fucking delicate to deal with anything!"  Ian crossed his arms, staring at Mickey accusingly. 

Mickey bit his lip hard.  Shit, it had been a while since Ian had had a sudden mood swing like this and he wasn't quite sure how to handle it without making things worse.  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Ian if he'd been taking his meds, but that would have been like throwing lit dynamite on a powder keg.

While he struggled to form a good enough response to calm Ian down before shit started getting real, Svetlana appeared.

"Hey, Big Boy," she moved immediately to Ian's side, slapping his ass casually.  "Get Geno's bottle while I make coffee, yeah?"

Ian stared down Mickey for another excruciatingly long second before he looked at her.  "Fine," he snapped, turning towards the kitchen.

Svetlana shot Mickey a faint smile before she followed Ian, and he wondered suddenly if she'd intervened on purpose.  Nah, probably not...if she'd realized Ian was about to go off on him, she probably would have made popcorn and settled in to watch the show. 

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, considering how fast this morning had gone downhill, and sincerely hoped the rest of the day would get better.

But knowing his luck, fat fucking chance.

***

In the kitchen, Ian leaned over the counter, trying to slow his too rapid breathing.  He closed his eyes, struggling for calm and trying to remember the relaxation exercise his therapist had taught him for moments like these.

The pot of water on the stove began to steam, and Ian dropped Geno's freshly made bottle into it to warm, noting with relief as he did so that he was starting to feel better.  The sudden rage that had taken hold of him was quickly fading, but now he felt like shit, knowing he'd overreacted and probably scared the hell out of Mickey for no good reason.

It was just that this was the same bullshit that made him pack his bags and leave home almost as soon as he was legally able.  Ever since Fiona and Lip had realized he was bipolar, they had treated him like an emotionally warped child, fragile and incompetent and unable to make a single fucking decision for himself.  It was like all they saw when they looked at him was his diagnosis.  No - all they saw was **Monica** , like her spirit had descended and swallowed the Ian they knew whole.  And no matter how much he tried to let them know that he was still there, that he wasn’t just doomed to repeat her mistakes, it never seemed like they got it.

Ian turned off the stove and sighed, taking Geno's bottle out of the hot water and squirting a few drops on his wrist to check the temperature.

"Hey,' Svetlana touched his arm lightly.  "Here," she gestured to the cup of coffee she was holding.  "For you."

Ian sipped it in silence for a moment while she watched him.  "Better now?"

"Yeah.  Thanks." 

"Good," she jerked her head back towards the living room.  "He means well, you know.  He's just...a little stupid."

Ian chuckled despite himself.  "Yeah.  Me too."

Svetlana conceded that point with a small grin thrown over her shoulder at him as she left the kitchen. 

Ian set down his cup and picked up the bottle.  He'd talk to Mickey about it all later, once he was sure he'd be able to handle it, and they'd work it out.  At least he knew that unlike his older siblings, Mickey would actually listen. 

From the living room, he heard Geno start up a loud, insistent babble and he grabbed the bottle before it could turn into crying and hurried into the living room, only to stop at the sight before him.

Geno was in his swing, banging on the tray excitedly as he jabbered at Mickey, who was standing in front of him, just looking down at the boy.  Geno seemed excited by this unexpected attention, probably more so because Ian could count on one hand the times he’d seen Mickey willingly interact with the kid.

Dissatisfied with Mickey’s lack of response to his verbal endeavors, Geno tossed the toy he’d been shaking back and forth, a set of chewable plastic keys.  It bounced off of Mickey’s foot.  As soon as the baby realized that throwing his toy meant that he didn’t have it anymore, his lip jutted out and tears appeared in his blue eyes.  “Bah bah bah buh!”  he wailed, stretching out his arms helplessly.

Mickey bent down and picked up the toy, started to return it, then pulled back slightly as Geno reached for them, playfully shaking them just out of reach.  Geno grinned broadly, all signs of distress gone, swiping futilely in the keys' direction. 

Mickey smiled faintly back.  "All yours, short stuff."  With that he tossed the keys on the tray and Geno snatched them up immediately, happily chewing and drooling within seconds. 

Mickey stood still for several seconds, watching him, then hesitantly he reached down and touched the baby's head. 

A sudden buzzing interrupted the moment, and Mickey pulled away to slap at his pocket, pulling out his phone.  Ian ducked back into the kitchen before Mickey realized he'd been watching him.  Once Mickey had moved away Ian walked into Geno’s line of sight, and the baby immediately tossed away his toy again, holding out his little arms impatiently.

“Give me a few minutes, OK?” Ian handed Geno the bottle and leaving him temporarily content, walked into Mickey’s bedroom, closing the door tightly behind him.

“Damn,’ he muttered to himself, pacing the small room.  “Damn, damn, damn.”  Really, he didn’t know why he was so surprised.  Mickey tried to hide it, but deep down, he was a soft touch.  And Geno…well, that fucking kid got more adorable every day.  Just being around him was generally enough to lift Ian’s spirits, and truly, it shouldn’t have been odd at all that even Mickey would began to succumb to his unstoppable charm. 

What made Ian the most frustrated of all is that this should have been a good thing.  It should be absolutely fucking wonderful that Mickey was letting down his walls, that Geno might actually have a chance at being raised by a father who loved him.  The boy deserved that.  He deserved so much more than this whole fucked up situation that he’d been born into.

But Ian couldn’t think about that now, even if it was killing him to put Geno at the bottom of his priorities.  Because now he had to consider what Mickey deserved.

And the unavoidable fact was, what he deserved was the truth. 

A truth that Ian had known for weeks, because his dumb ass had to get curious, overthinking every fucking thing, and relentlessly sniffing around until he dug up the skeletons without once considering the consequences.  If he’d just left everything alone, he wouldn’t have to be standing here now, seriously considering dropping a bomb that was going to blow his new family to hell.

The internal debate going on in his head right now was making his earlier rage seem laughable.  He couldn’t just keep going over every single possible scenario in his mind until his thoughts raced so fast that he couldn’t stand it.  He’d already thought this through a dozen times, and not a damn thing was getting any clearer. 

Ian made himself cross the room once more, going to the closet, opening the door, and reaching underneath the balled up clothes on the top shelf to extract the manila envelope he’d hidden there.

“Damn,” he whispered one more time and with that, he turned to face to beard the lion in his den.

There was no turning back now.  All he could do was pray they’d all survive the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this isn't exactly the chapter I intended to write and I'm sorry to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger. I ended up writing more than I intended, but the next chapter is pretty much finished already and should be out tomorrow, or possibly even tonight. 
> 
> Oh, and regarding the baby's nickname, Geno, I read somewhere on Tumblr that it was a common nickname for Yvgeny, and it just seemed like it suited him.
> 
> All feedback is appreciated; thanks for reading!


	3. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ian reveals the truth about Geno's paternity, he's not prepared for what he learns in return.

 

Nervously, Ian tapped the envelope against his open palm as he walked back into the living room.  Mandy had emerged as well, and she sat on the couch now, passing a cigarette back and forth with Svetlana.  She shot him a cold glance when he looked at her.  “Don’t even start with me,” she warned.

“Wasn’t gonna,” he assured her.  _Not now, anyway.  I’ve got somebody else’s life to blow to shit,_ he thought to himself grimly.

He was still tapping the envelope on his palm, and Mandy eyed it curiously.  “What’s that?”

Svetlana followed her gaze, and when she caught sight of what he was holding, she paled immediately.  “No,” she nearly whispered.  “Ian…not yet.  A little more time, please.”

Her desperate expression was nearly tearing his heart out.  How could he do this to her?  But if he didn’t, then the person he was lying to was Mickey, and he was backed into a corner now.  He had to choose.

“Svetlana, the longer we wait, the harder it’s going to get.  We’ve got to tell him.  He has a right to know.”

“What are you talking about?  Who has the right to know what?”  Mandy’s head swiveled back and forth between them. 

Ian ignored her, eyes locked on Svetlana.  Her shoulders slumped in resignation.  “He’ll kill me and throw Yvgeny out on the street.”

“No,” Ian shook his head, dropping down onto the couch next to her.  “He wouldn’t do that to you, to either one of you.”  His reassurances were empty, and they both knew it.  Truth be told, he had no idea how Mickey was going to react to this, only that it was going to be a fucking mess.  Dammit.  If worse came to worse, he’d take Svetlana and Geno to Fiona’s for a few days, squeeze them in somehow, until he found someplace else for them.

God, he should just stop right now.  But he couldn’t.  He had to tell Mickey, and he had to admit that it was partly out of pure selfishness.  He just couldn’t take the guilt of keeping this secret anymore, of watching Mickey struggle every day to shoulder a burden that was never his to begin with.

Horrified understanding was beginning to dawn on Mandy’s face.  “Holy fucking shit…” she breathed, staring at the envelope.  “It’s Geno, isn’t it?  He’s not…he’s not Mickey’s, is he?”

Ian’s knuckles tightened on the envelope til they showed white.  Neither he or Svetlana answered.  They didn’t need to.  Their expressions said it all.

Mandy turned to freeze Svetlana in an accusing stare.  “What the fuck?  Do you even know whose it is?”

Svetlana looked away.  Her hands were beginning to shake.

Ian smiled grimly.  “Let me put it this way.  He’s still a Milkovich.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  Mandy jumped up, her voice rising, and Ian tossed a warning glance towards the back of the house where Mickey had disappeared.  She lowered her voice, but her expression was still blazing as she turned on her sister in law.  “He’s Terry’s?  And you knew!  You tried to pass him off as Mickey’s!”

“No!”  Ian jumped between the women before Mandy could lunge forward.  “She didn’t know.  At least, not for sure.”

“I thought maybe…”  Svetlana’s voice was still barely above a whisper.  “I hoped I was wrong.”

“Does Terry know?”  Mandy demanded. 

Svetlana shook her head slowly.  “No…not really.  He thought maybe it was his too, but he didn’t care.  He told me I would marry Mickey no matter what.  He said he’d kill me if I ever said anything.”  She turned her face away from them.  “Orange Boy here guessed.  He talked me into letting Geno be tested.”  She turned back, giving him a resentful look that told him she deeply regretted doing so now.

Mandy was about to speak again but snapped her mouth shut abruptly when Mickey strode into the room.  “Hey, you guys – change of plans.  That was Kev.  A boatload of sailors on furlough just showed up at the Alibi looking to get blued, screwed and tattooed, and we gotta help ‘em out with the first two.”  He grinned before turning to his wife.  “Go put on something slutty…ier.  And call all the girls that are off shift and get them down there too.  Kev says there’s three guys to every girl right now.”

Looking greatly relieved, Svetlana jumped up, but Ian held out a hand to stop her.  “Wait a minute.  Mickey, we need to talk.”

“Can’t right now, Ian.  We’ve got to get moving.  Hey, do you mind taking Geno with you today?  I’ll drop you guys off – I can take you to work too, Mandy, but you gotta get ready right now.”

“Sure, but Mickey, wait a minute…”  Ian stepped in Mickey’s path, cutting him off.

Mickey sighed.  “Look, Ian, I’m sorry about earlier, OK?”

“No, Mickey, it’s OK.  It wasn’t your fault.  But that’s not what I need to talk to you about.  Please. It’s important.”

“So is this!”  Mickey gentled his voice at Ian’s serious expression.  “Look, if all goes well today, we’ll make enough money to cover the rest of the deposit on the apartment.  You know they’re only holding it til Friday. This is our chance to get out of here.  We can’t blow it now.”

“I know.  But this can’t wait.  Not anymore.”

“Fine,” Mickey’s voice was exasperated.  “Lay it on me.”

Ian ran a nervous hand through his hair.  Now that he had Mickey’s attention, the words had evaporated into thin air.  Before he could completely lose his courage, he thrust the envelope at Mickey.  Next to them, Svetlana had frozen like a rabbit contemplating a deadly snare.

“The fuck is this?”  Mickey took the envelope reluctantly.

“Just…open it.”  Ian closed his eyes.

With an impatient snort, Mickey opened the envelope, pulling out the white printed paper.  There was no sound at all as he gave it the most cursory of glances, rolled his eyes, and shoved it back at Ian.  “Fascinating.  Can we go before the sailors drink themselves limp?”

“Mickey, you have to actually fucking read it!”  Ian followed Mickey as the shorter man crossed the room to pick up Geno’s diaper bag. 

Mickey dropped the bag next to the baby swing, and picked Geno up, handing him to Ian.  “Ian, can you please give me a hand here and get his shit together?”

“Mickey, come on!”  Ian took Geno automatically even as he protested the change of subject.  “Are you even comprehending what’s going on here?  Do you know what this is?”  He waved the paper at Mickey with his free hand.

Mickey turned back to him, giving him a deliberate stare.  “Funny enough, it looks just like the paternity test I already did two months ago.”  His mouth twitched as Ian, Mandy, and Svetlana all gasped in unison.  “Sorry, Sherlock, did I ruin the surprise?”

“You knew?”  Svetlana choked out before Ian could even begin to frame the words. 

Mickey gave her a hard look.  “Did you think I was that stupid?  I fuck someone who bangs guys for a living one lousy time, and I’m the lucky donor of the one wriggly that knocks her up?  You really thought I’d just swallow that because you said so?”

“Mickey,” Mandy stepped forward, her eyes dark with concern. “That’s not all.  Do you know who the father really is?”

The faint amusement on Mickey’s face disappeared, and his mouth quirked into a bitter line.  “Dear old Dad…the gift that just keeps on giving.  I figured it was something like that when he was so fucking set on us getting married.  Guess he thought he was keeping it in the family either way.”  He exhaled loudly.  “So if nobody has any more Maury Povich shit to throw my way, can we please get out of here?”

“But Mickey – “

Ian put a hand on his shoulder but Mickey shoved it off.  “But nothing, Ian!”  He exploded, and the three of them jumped.  Geno let out a startled wail, and Ian hurriedly bounced the baby to soothe him.

“What do you think this changes?”  Mickey demanded as they continued to stare.  His hands were clenched.  “What did you all think I was going to do?  Throw him out?  Let Terry have him?”  He rounded on Svetlana.  “You remember what you walked into when you first came through that front door?  The reason why there was any chance at all that Geno could have been mine?  You want the man responsible for that to have open access to your kid?  Seriously, you want him to have one single fucking second where Geno is at his mercy?”

Frantically, Svetlana shook her head.  Her face was so white that her bright makeup stood out in vivid contrast like a clown mask.

“Then there’s nothing to talk about.  Give me that.”  Mickey snatched the test back from Ian and picked up a lighter from the coffee table.  A snap later, and the paper was in flames.  He strode into the kitchen, throwing it into the sink to burn itself out.

Mickey came back to face the three of them.  “Everybody thinks Geno’s mine.  Nobody needs to know any different.  Everyone clear on that?”

“Mickey...”  Ian touched his shoulder, feeling how rigidly his boyfriend’s muscles were clenched.  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“What _I_ want?”  Mickey barked out a laugh.  “You think I wanted any of this?”  He rubbed his forehead.  “All I know is I may never win any Father of the Year awards, but even if I sat around scratching my balls for the next twenty years, I’m still going to be better than Terry.  And I’m not letting that bastard anywhere near Geno.  He’s still blood.”  With that, he scowled around the room.  “Why the hell is everyone still standing around?  What part of we need to go do you people not understand?”

Svetlana remained right where she was, staring at Mickey slightly openmouthed as if she’d never seen him before.  Next to her, Mandy wore a matching expression, and Ian was pretty sure if he could look in a mirror right now he’d see the look in triplicate. 

Mickey threw up his hands.  “Fine, then!  Everyone who still wants to be here when Terry gets out of jail, stay right where you fucking are!”

That did it.  Ian began hurriedly throwing diapers and formula in the bag and both Svetlana and Mandy jumped up and headed off to their respective bedrooms to change.

“Hey, Ian…” 

Ian looked up to see Mickey stopped next to him, his expression uncertain.  “Look, I need to know.  Are you in or out?”

Bewildered, Ian stood up, slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder.  “You seriously need to ask?”

Mickey started to reply but just then Svetlana emerged from the bedroom, wearing a skin tight black dress split nearly down to her navel, freshly applied crimson lipstick, and wafting clouds of perfume.  She made a beeline directly for Mickey and before he could stop her, she threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his cheek.

“Fuck!  Get off!”  Mickey yelped, squirming out of her grip and frantically rubbing at the crimson mark she’d left on his cheek.  Ian couldn’t help but laugh at his expression; he looked just like a little kid getting unwanted cuddles from a handsy grandma.  “Dammit, now I’m going to smell like whore all day!”

“A step up for you then, yes?”  Svetlana smirked.

“OK, let’s go,”  Mandy was back, wearing her godawful Waffle Cottage uniform. 

Svetlana picked up her purse and started to follow her sister in law out the door.  Ian gathered up Geno and started to follow as well but Mickey grabbed his arm.  “Hang on a minute.”

Ian stopped, confused.  “Thought you said there wasn’t anything to talk about, Mick.  This doesn’t change anything for me, either.”

“Yeah, but…”  Mickey rocked back and forth on his heels.  “Think about it. You know I can’t divorce her, right?  Not until we’ve been married long enough for her to be legal.”

Ian sucked in a deep breath.  “How long?”

“Dunno,” Mickey shrugged.  “Years, probably.  Asshole’s looking into it for me.”

“Lip?”  Ian’s voice rose in shock and he nearly lost his grip on the baby. 

“Yeah, who do you think hooked me up with the paternity test?”

“What?  You went to Lip with this, but you didn’t tell me?”  Ian could feel the red flush creeping up from the back of his neck to spread across his face.  “Why couldn’t you come to me?  This just another thing you thought I was too mentally fragile to handle?”

“Hey, I’m not the only one who was keeping secrets here, remember?”  Mickey shot back.  He sighed then, shoulders slumping.  “Ian, that’s not why I didn’t tell you.  I just – wasn’t in a hurry to have this conversation.”

“What conversation is that, exactly?”  Ian demanded.

“You wanted me to be free, remember?  And I’m not.  I’m the furthest from free you can imagine.  I got a wife who’s just as thrilled to be stuck with me as I am with her and a kid whose life is starting out like a fucking Jerry Springer episode.  It’s a lot, OK?  And I figured that once you realized that, you’d – “

“Leave,”  Ian finished.  “Really, Mickey?  That’s what you think of me?”

Mickey slumped against the wall.  “No.  I don’t know.  I mean, who could blame you for not choosing this fucking mess?”

“You’re not the only one with baggage here, remember?”  Ian shifted Geno to one shoulder and placed his free hand on Mickey’s shoulder.  “Mickey, you _are_ free.  You’re free to be with me.  That’s all I ever wanted.”

“Yeah?”  Mickey’s eyes met his and Ian leaned forward, letting his hand slide from Mickey’s shoulder to his face. 

“Yeah, dumbass.  I’m in.  That’s my answer.”  With that, he angled his head down, his lips nearing Mickey’s. 

Just as the kiss began, a loud car horn blared outside, followed by Mandy’s bellow.  “HEY ASSHOLES, WE’RE FUCKING MELTING OUT HERE! LET’S GO!”

Reluctantly, they pulled apart and simultaneously, they began to laugh.  Geno waved his hands, startled at the sound, and then he began to laugh too, which only made them laugh harder.

Yeah, it was a lot, but they’d figure it out.  Together.

* * *

 

In the next chapter, it’s sibling time as Ian turns to Lip for advice on what happens next, and Mickey and Mandy finally talk about what Terry’s done to them.

Thanks so much for reading!  Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. My Blood, Your Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip struggles to reconnect with Ian; meanwhile, Mickey and Mandy have a painful conversation about their father. TW: (non graphic) discussion of sexual abuse/rape.

 

“You gonna actually say something, or are you going to just sit there and look smug?” Ian demanded of his older brother, staring at him from across the counter in the Gallagher kitchen. He’d finished speaking several minutes ago, detailing for Lip everything that had happened this morning, how he’d revealed to Mickey that Geno wasn’t his son, only to find that Mickey (and Lip) had already known. It was hard enough dealing with the fact that his brother, of all people, had been sneaking around and sharing secrets with Mickey behind his back. And now the fact that Lip was just sitting there, open textbook in front of him, smirking around his loosely held cigarette, was really starting to get on Ian’s nerves.

“Your life is a fucking soap opera, you know that?” Lip grinned as he snapped his textbook closed. “At least it’s all out in the open now. And you knew already…that’s priceless. He was freaking out about telling you, you know. Think he was afraid you were going to bolt once you figured out the wife and kid weren't going away.” He paused for a moment. “I had kinda hoped you would, to be honest.”

Ian shot him a scathing look and Lip held up his hands in mock surrender. “OK, I get it. You’re in it for the long haul.”

"Yeah," Ian waited for a long moment before plunging in. “So, tell me. How much of a clusterfuck is this?”

Lip sighed, shaking his head. “Well, it’s not great. Svetlana is here illegally. Mickey marrying her helps, but it’s not necessarily a get out of deportation free card. Remember Estefania? The good news is that INS doesn’t know Svetlana exists. Since she and your boyfriend are up to their eyeballs in illegal activity, I suggest you all try to keep it that way. Believe it or not, Immigration is not going to find the saga of the pimp and his hooker wife all that endearing.”

  
He paused for a moment, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Once they get their act together, go legit or at least get better at creating the illusion that they are, that’s when it’s going to get real. Svetlana is going to need a green card, and that’s going to require proof of a legitimate marriage and residency. Ian, this shit is complicated. It’s going to be a minimum of two years before he’s legally free of her, and that’s the best case scenario. Hope you didn’t have your heart set on him putting a ring on it, because you’re going to have a hell of a wait.”

“Jesus, Lip!” Ian nearly choked. “You think I’m worried about that? I just turned eighteen; I’m not even thinking about that shit!”

“Alright, don’t have a panic attack,” Lip chuckled. He paused a moment. “But you two are serious though…moving into your own place together. That’s a big fucking deal.”

He shook the ash off his cigarette, contemplating Ian for a moment. “It feels different now, you know, having you gone. When you left the first time, just fucking disappeared, I never thought it was for good. Was just waiting for you to come walking back in with some bullshit story about your journey of self-revelation. Even having you over at the Milkovich homestead still felt like you were just on a long sleepover. But now…it’s real. You’ve left the nest for good. You’re not coming back.”

Ian was quiet, not sure how to respond, but Lip didn’t seem to be waiting for a reply. “Look, I know Fiona and I have been giving you a lot of shit about not being ready. Maybe it was just us who weren’t ready to let you go.” He stubbed out his cigarette before meeting Ian’s eyes again. “You’ve always been our go-to guy, you know that? We took it for granted. And then you were gone, and there was just this – hole.” He exhaled shakily. “I hate that it's been weird between us. We haven't really talked in months. I just - I’ve really fucking missed you, Ian. I need my best friend back.”

Ian swallowed hard, not sure if he trusted himself to speak, “I've been here, Lip,” his voice was rough. “I’m not Monica. I’m still right fucking here.”

“Hey, I know that,” Lip leaned over, putting his hand underneath Ian’s chin and forcing his brother to look him in the eyes. “I know that now. I won’t forget it again. I promise.”

He released him then, and for several minutes they were both quiet, avoiding each other’s eyes before things got really sappy.  
Finally Lip leaned forward again. “Speaking of people I may have underestimated…Mickey...he's...” he scratched his ear. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think he's been good for you."

Ian broke into a wide smile. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Yeah, I know, you moony eyed sucker,” Lip laughed. “Just don’t tell him I said so, OK? He might get the idea I like him or something, and I'm comfortable with our antagonistic status quo.” He stood up for a moment, turning to look over his shoulder into the living room, checking to make sure Liam was still watching tv with Debbie and Carl, before turning back.

“Speaking of Milkovichs…how’s Mandy?”

Ian’s smile faded. “She…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s still having a hard time with everything. Lot’s happened, you know…all the shit with her dad, Kenyatta, just everything. I don’t know.”

“You sound worried,” Lip studied him carefully. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Ian shrugged. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I think it is.”

Lip frowned, lighting a new cigarette. “Maybe I should call her.”

Ian glared at him. “No fucking way. You know she’s still not over the way you broke her heart. Plus, you’re with Amanda now. She deserves better than to be your side piece.”

“I meant as a friend!” Lip protested.

“Oh please,” Ian scoffed. “You have never been just friends with a girl in your entire life.”

Lip cocked his head in silent admission of this undeniable fact. Ian leaned forward. “Lip, I’m serious. You’re my brother and I love you, but if you start fucking with Mandy again, I will break your kneecaps. You think I’m joking? Try me.”

“Jesus, I get it, OK?” Lip waved him off. “Just wish there was something I could do, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ian frowned.  He tapped his fingers on the counter, tapping out an anxious rhythm. “Me too.”

* * *

“Hey. How did it go with the sailors?"

Mickey looked at from the towering pile of clothes he’d been trying to sort through to see Mandy framed in his bedroom doorway.

“Let me put it this way. It was the girls who had a guy in every port tonight,” He grinned.

"Ugh," Mandy made a face. "I'm surprised Svetlana can even walk."

Mickey snorted. "Yeah, like those military pay grade cannon fodder could afford her."

"What?" Mandy looked at him curiously. "You stick a premium pussy sticker on her and raise her asking price or something?"

"Nah. I promoted her. She's managerial now; I put her in charge of the girls. Saves me a load of fucking migraines. She deals with all their shit and I just collect the money and play the heavy."

"Oh my God," Mandy stared at him in disbelief, not fooled in the slightest. "You had some kind of crisis of conscience over pimping out your wife! Who the fuck are you and what the hell did you do with my brother?"

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey threw the jeans he'd been about to pack at her. "I gotta think about Geno, right? How the hell would I ever explain to him that I sell his mom for fifty bucks a pop?"

"You've gone soft," Mandy snickered. When he didn't answer, she nudged him playfully in the shoulder. "C'mon, I'm just giving you shit. You know, this whole thing with Geno...it’s pretty cool. What you’re doing for him.”

Mickey sighed. God, he did not need anyone else trying to have A Very Special Moment with him today. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Mandy came all the way into the room, closing the door behind her. “I’m going to be here, you know? I’ll help. I mean, he’s my brother too.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t say anything else right away, and Mickey went back to throwing stacks of shirts into the cardboard box at his feet.

“Can’t wait to get out of here, can you?”

Mickey just raised his eyebrows. Like that wasn’t fucking obvious.

Mandy was quiet again for a moment, inching closer once more. Mickey could feel himself tensing. Something was on her mind, and he had a pretty serious feeling that he wasn’t going to like it.

"You said you only had sex with Svetlana the one time." Her voice was flat.

"So?" Mickey pushed the now full box away from him with his foot, looking around for the duct tape to seal it with.

“He made you do it, didn’t he?”

Mickey dropped the tape and straightened up. “Who?”

“Terry. He made you fuck his hooker mistress because he found out about you and Ian.”

Fuck. “Yeah.” Mickey said flatly, and silently prayed she wasn’t going to ask for the details.

It was clear from the sickened look on Mandy’s face that she didn’t need him to fill in the blanks. After a moment, she sat down next to him on the bed. “I should have known. I just assumed she was some random you’d been fucking around with. I wish I had been there for you more.”

"You would have been if you'd known," Mickey looked at her. "It's not like I told you. We just - we don't talk about this kinda shit."

"No, I guess we don't," Mandy's voice was devoid of emotion. She looked down, picking at tiny balls of lint on his comforter.

"Maybe we should."

Mandy's eyes flickered to him at that, and he saw the flash of alarm. "Mickey. Don't."

He didn't want to. With everything in him, he wanted to drop it now and let the two of them bury it all like they usually did, but where the fuck had that gotten them? Hiding all their wounds and scars from the world, and for what? So their father could get away with it again and again and again?

"Mandy, I know, OK? I know what he did to you. I know about the abortion."

Mandy stared straight ahead, her face rigid. "Ian told you, didn't he?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "But I knew before then, even if I didn't want to believe it. I pretended I didn't, but we all heard him going into your room in the middle of the night. I knew what was happening, and I didn't do shit. I'm your brother. I should have protected you. Fuck," he rubbed his eyes, knowing he couldn't hide the tears that had sprung up even as he saw her own begin to roll down her cheeks. "I should have killed him when I had the chance," he choked out. "For you; for all of us."

"C'mon, Mickey," Mandy protested, swiping at her wet cheeks. "He's still our dad."

"Fuck that shit!" Mickey stood up, feeling the rage began to bubble in his veins. "He's nothing to me now except the piece of shit who contributed half of my DNA. He can fucking rot, far as I'm concerned."

"Well, I'm glad it's so easy for you," Mandy spat at him. "A year ago, you would have done anything to please him. You _did_ do anything, and the proof is that cheap ass ring on your left hand. Well, I can't turn on and off how I feel just because you've decided now that he's a bad guy. At least he didn't walk out on us. He kept us all together."

"Are you fucking kidding me? You think he deserves some kind of pat in the back because he stuck around to twist us up so bad in the heads that we accepted anything he did? You know who does that? Cult leaders do that. That's some David Koresh/Warren Jeffries type shit. We were never his kids, we were his followers. It was just control."

"Yeah, I get it. Thanks, Mickey." Mandy stood up. Her arms were wrapped around her chest, and she was trembling. "He never loved us, right? That's what you're trying to say. He never loved me. Thanks for making that so clear. I really needed you to point out that there's yet another person that I gave up everything for who never gave a shit."

"Hey, Mandy, come on - " Mickey reached for her but Mandy shoved past him and out the bedroom door, slamming it violently shut behind her. "Dammit!" He kicked the box he'd been packing and it fell over spilling the contents on to the floor. "Fuck!" He turned and slammed his fist into the wall over and over again, feeling the skin split over his knuckles.

"Mickey, stop!" Svetlana had come running in; he could hear her speaking to his back, but he didn't turn to look; just kept hitting the wall. The plaster cracked and dented, paint chips falling in chunks to the floor. Blood from his knuckles was running down the wall in crimson streams. It wasn't enough. He could tear this whole fucking house down right now and it wouldn't be enough to relieve the rage blazing through him.  

"Mickey!" Svetlana grabbed his shoulder, and with surprising strength, she yanked him away from the wall. "Stop!"

When she touched him, the rage boiled over and in a second, before he'd realized it, he had shoved her against the opposite wall, his fist a centimeter from her face, before he realized what was happening. He froze then, breathing heavily. "Shit!" He released her just as abruptly. "Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't - sorry."

"It's OK," Svetlana's voice was calm. She moved towards him, kept coming even as he backed up, and caught his hand in her own, turning it to survey the damage. "You're hurt."

He tried to yank his hand away, but her grip tightened on his wrist. "Let me clean it. I'll get bandages. And I will call Ian. He needs to come home, I think."

Mickey nodded then. "Yeah," his voice was still breathy, needy, and he hated it. "Thanks."

Svetlana nodded. She gave his hand one final squeeze, and swept out of the room.

Mickey sat there, waiting, listening to the blood pound in his head so loud it drowned out everything else, and knew only one thing.

If he ever saw his father again, one of them wasn't walking away.

* * *

  
So...yeah.  I didn't intend it to be this angsty, but Mickey and Mandy hurt my heart. This was a tough chapter to write. I hope I did it justice.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

I can be found at http://avalonia320.tumblr.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Svetlana does interesting things with carrots, Mickey contemplates fatherhood, Ian is insecure, and Mandy worries about what's coming next.
> 
> tw: there are some references to abuse in this chapter.

The Grenshaw Courtyard Apartments.

  
The title was devised by a optimistic building owner decades ago, supposedly to conjure up pictures of a lushly landscaped, almost tropical feeling villa, with a vast vista of green, topped by brightly colored flowers swaying in a light breeze.

What it was really was a half square shaped, four story sprawling brick apartment complex painted in a hideous combination of light yellow with olive green trim. Inside its multi unit buildings, surrounding a square, barren patch of dirt (the alleged courtyard), lay a text book example of both health and building code violations. This was housing to those who didn't have the luxury of expecting any better: junkies, street dealers, single welfare moms, and seniors whose social security pittance was a laughable reward for a lifetime of hard work.

So yeah...it wasn't much. But for now, it was home.

Mickey had been there for two days now, and he still wasn't used to the feeling of freedom, looking at the scarred popcorn ceiling over their heads, the cracked and water stained walls enclosing them, and feeling absolutely fucking fantastic about it. It was theirs. Not Terry's, not Fiona's, but _theirs_.

It was already well past dark as Mickey finally made his way up the stairs to their second floor unit, struggling with the uncooperative lock until Mandy swung it open from the other side. "Hey. About time."

For a moment, the siblings silently regarded each other. To say things had been awkward between them since their confrontation over Terry would be an extreme understatement. Mandy hadn't spoken to him for days afterwards. When she finally did, she was...well, she was fucking cold. Perfectly polite, the few times she'd had no other choice then to interact with him, which was the weirdest part of all. Milkoviches didn't do polite. It was a sure sign of the apocalypse.

He'd never admit it, but he really missed her. 

"Hey," he said in return, still standing in the hallway in front of his own damn door, like a stranger who needed permission to enter. "I, uh - ' God, when did talking to his own sister get so weird? "Got some good news."

"Yeah, I'm sure Ian will be happy to hear whatever it is," Dismissal was clear in Mandy's voice as she stepped aside to let him pass.

Mickey ducked inside, only to immediately find his nose assailed by the smell of cooking meat. Inside the small apartment, it was even hotter than it was outside, heat from their tiny kitchenette rolling out in waves from the multiple pots and pans on the stove.  "What the fuck is this?"

"Dinner," Svetlana looked up from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. "Beef stroganoff."

"Beef strogawhat?"

Svetlana just rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

"Isn't it a little hot to be sweating over the stove?" Mickey was already pulling off his long sleeved overshirt to reveal the blue tank top underneath, feeling sweat start to trickle down his back. "You're making it feel like a goddamn furnace in here!"

She looked back up to give him an exasperated look. "I am not asking you to cook it, am I? It is first time we all get chance to sit down together in our new place. I want it to be nice."

"Whatever," Mickey moved past her to grab a beer from the fridge. 

Svetlana muttered something in Russian as she stirred the meat in the pan before speaking to him again. "You know, some men appreciate wife who cooks."

"Guess I'm not one of them," Mickey twisted the cap off his beer, leaning against the fridge.

"Not talking about you," she scoffed back and picked up one of the uncut carrots lying on the counter. As Mickey watched, she slowly licked the tip of it, then slid it between her ruby colored lips. "Hmmm. I love carrots," she sighed around it. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mickey stared at her, watching her deep throat the long stem like the pro she was. It was like watching the opening scene some godawful Skinemax movie; he was just waiting for some bad elevator music to swell and a shirtless plumber to walk in to ask her if she needed help with that. "Jesus, would you save the show for the paying customers?"

"Maybe I give your boy freebie, you think?" She arched an eyebrow suggestively.

Mickey slammed down his beer, explosive reply on his lips, when he heard the laughter from the living room. Ian had come out of the bedroom, balancing a whimpering Geno in his arms. He was watching the two of them, amusement clear on his face. 

"Still won't sleep?" Mandy asked, looking up from the pot she was stirring.

"Nope; fussy as hell. Think he's teething. My arms are numb from rocking him," Ian gently deposited Geno into his swing and the baby whimpered more loudly.  "Sorry, kid, just need a break for a couple of minutes." He dropped down onto the couch with a sigh. When Geno immediately began to fuss, he stretched his long legs across the coffee table and pushed the swing back and forth with his foot, relieved when the boy quieted at the motion.

"Go help him," Svetlana nudged Mickey hard. He gritted his teeth as she pointed imperiously towards the baby.

Instead, Mickey stomped past Geno to join Ian on the couch. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, settling back. "Think if I have Immigration pick her well used ass up, they'd still let me keep the kid?"

Ian laughed. "Come on, she's not so bad."

"Says the guy whose dick she's desperate to suck," Mickey snapped back.

Ian laughed again, shaking his head. He looked up to see Svetlana's quirking lips before she ducked back over the stove again. "Are you blind, Mickey? That wasn't about me. There are only three things in this world that Svetlana enjoys: Geno, good quality vodka, and fucking with you. Not necessarily in that order."

"Great," Mickey mumbled and drained half his beer in one swallow.

“By the way, how come she came home without you? Where you been?” Ian looked at him curiously as Mickey settled next to him on the couch.

“Got a lead on a job and I went to go settle the details. Just a one time gig; little extra money coming in.”

“Oh yeah? Where at?”  
Mickey scratched his nose, not quite meeting Ian’s eyes. “Uh…”

“Mickey,” Ian sat up. “What is it that you don’t want to tell me?”

He gave up with a sigh. “It’s at the Fairy Tail, OK? Your old manager called; said they needed extra security at this big bash they’re having. For some reason he thought of me.”

“Wonder why,” Ian said drily. Mickey still wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. “Did he…say anything else?”

“Asked about you. Said everyone misses you,” Mickey was barely able to hide his grimace.

Ian kept his eyes locked on Mickey, waiting. After a moment, Mickey gave up with a sigh. “Fine. They want you there too; asked if you could dance again just for the one night.”

Ian could only imagine Mickey’s colorful response. “And you told them no, right?”

“Ian…”

“Don’t you think you should have run it by me first?” Ian fought hard to keep his voice calm.

“Come on, Ian. Why would you want to be back in that man pit, shaking your ass for a bunch of chicken hawks who look at you like you got a price tag dangling from your dick?” Mickey rubbed his hand through his hair, wishing he’d never brought the whole thing up. 

“Because it’s good money!” Ian sat up. “Like you said, it’s just for one night, and we’d be there together, right? What’s the big deal?”

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” Mickey glared at him. Ian glowered at him just as fiercely back, holding his gaze until Mickey finally broke.

“Look, I trust you, OK? I know you can handle it. I just – I’m the one who can’t handle it, alright? I can’t see you like that again. Those assholes with their hands all over you, remembering how fucking strung out you were when I first found you there,” Mickey held up his hand when Ian started to object. “Can you not fight me on this? Just this once, please?” He held Ian's eyes with his, begging him silently to understand all the things he couldn't articulate.

“Fine,” Ian slumped back on the couch. “It’s just – I want to help, you know? I want to get back to work, feel like I’m contributing something.”

“You are working,” Mickey settled back as well, relieved the argument was over. He picked up a magazine that laid open on the coffee table, thumbing through the pages. 

“Part time at the Kash and Grab. It’s pocket change.” Ian clenched his jaw.

“It’s enough.”

“If it was, you wouldn’t be willing to play bouncer for a bunch of ass grabbing queers, would you?”

Mickey shrugged. “That’s the thing about rent; they seem to want it every month,” he nudged Ian with his arm, trying to shake the downcast expression off his face.“I got this, OK? Let me worry about the money shit for a while.”

“But I want to help,” Ian started to protest again but Mickey swatted him with the magazine. 

“You are helping. If it wasn’t for you and your sister, we’d all be sitting on the floor," Mickey indicated the motley assortment of secondhand furniture around them. "And you help out with Geno all the time.”

“Great,” Ian grumbled. “I’m the happy housewife.”

Mickey laughed at that. “Hey, if the shoe fits…”

“Asshole,” Ian picked up the faded couch pillow next to him and tossed it at Mickey’s head.

Mickey managed to snag it before it smacked him in the face. Grinning, he was about to toss it back at Ian when the other man caught his wrist, pulling it towards him.

"Almost healed," Ian murmured. He traced the sealing splits over Mickey's knuckles and the pale, yellow bruises that surrounded them. "Does it still hurt?" 

"No," Feeling self conscious, Mickey tried to pull his hand back, but Ian tightened his grip. 

"You never did tell me what happened," Ian looked back up at him, thinking again about the night he'd gone back to his family's house to spend time with his siblings, only to have Svetlana call and tell him Mickey needed him. He'd come home to find Mickey slumped on the side of the bed as Svetlana bandaged his broken knuckles. The blood stained, dented wall in the bedroom gave a pretty good explanation of what had turned Mickey's fist into hamburger. What he'd been lacking was an explanation of what had set Mickey off in the first place, and it's not like his boyfriend had been all that inclined to spill his guts.

"Nothing, man. Just...stuff," he'd muttered, when Ian pressed him. 

At least Ian had Svetlana to fill in at least some of the blanks. "Terry," she'd whispered under her breath as they'd kept vigil until Mickey had finally drifted off to sleep. "He and Mandy talk about him, I think."

So of course Ian had turned to Mandy next for answers but she'd been even more uncooperative than her brother. "Mind your own fucking business," she had snapped and when he'd persisted she had grabbed her jacket and stormed from the house. They hadn't seen her for two days after that, and just when Ian had been about to file a missing persons report she had stumbled back home, sporting some brutal looking hickeys and so hungover nobody bothered to ask her where she'd been. It would have been a miracle if she could remember herself. Besides, she'd gotten her message across loud and clear: if they crowded her, she was gone.

It's not like Ian had room to hold something like that against her.

He turned his attention back to Mickey, who still hadn't answered the question. "It's OK if you don't want to talk about it. It's just - I guess I like the idea of being able to be there for you. It would be nice to be...needed."

"Hey," Mickey slapped Ian's arm. "I _do_ need you," he looked away. "You oughta know that by now."

"Thanks," Ian smiled, feeling unexpectedly warmed. "We gonna talk then?"

Mickey looked perplexed. "Isn't that what we just did?"

"Yeah, OK," Ian couldn't help but laugh at that - Mickey looked so honestly confused at what more Ian could possibly expect. Yeah, he guessed those few sentences did pretty much qualify as a heart to heart as far as Mickey was concerned.   Before he could say more they were both interrupted by a whimper that threatened more. Ian had stopped pushing Geno's swing the last few minutes, and now the baby let out a frustrated wail followed by a few sniffling cries.  Hurriedly Ian began pushing the swing again with his foot. 

"Batteries ran out again?" Mickey asked. 

"Yeah. I'll pick up some more at work tomorrow."

"He's getting too big to be stuck in that thing all the time anyway," Mickey watched the two of them for a moment then sat forward. "Hey. Watch this."With that, he caught Geno's eye and when the baby was looking at him he made a great show of cracking a knuckle. At the popping sound Geno's eyes widened and then the baby let out a near shriek of laughter, waving his tiny arms excitedly and slapping the tray of his swing in glee. Only the most soulless of beings could keep from laughing along, and that's exactly what both Ian and Mickey did. Once Geno calmed down and caught his breath, Mickey cracked another knuckle and it set the tot off again. 

"See?" Mickey grinned. "Kid's not hard to entertain."

"Well, he seems to find you pretty damn funny," Ian agreed as Mickey cracked a third knuckle and the baby worked himself into near hysterics at the sound.

After Geno had laughed himself out, his eyes began to droop and he lolled against the side of the swing. Ian sighed in relief. "Think we can get him to sleep now, finally." With that he stood up, picked Geno up and cradled him against his chest, sitting back down on the couch. Geno sighed contentedly and was asleep within seconds.

Ian adjusted Geno's head, making sure he was comfortably settled, and looked up to see Mickey watching him.

"It's easier for you to be around him now, isn't it?" he couldn't help but ask.

Mickey seemed to contemplate this for a moment. "I guess," he said after a moment. "Yeah. I mean, it was a shitty thing to do, blame a kid for how I thought he was brought into this world. Just couldn't help it." He was looking away again.  
"Understandable though," Ian encouraged. This was the closest that they'd ever really gotten to talking about the day Terry had caught them together, and what had happened next. He hesitated for a moment, not sure how to continue.

"Yeah, well now I know different," Mickey interjected, finishing off the rest of his beer. "He's still a Milkovich though. Just as fucked as the rest of us."

"I don't think so," Ian shook his head. "He's got Svetlana and Mandy looking out for him. He's got you, too. And you're going to be a great dad."

Mickey gave Ian a deeply skeptical look. "Whatever. If I manage to keep him from playing in traffic or showing up to school with an AK47 I'll consider my job done. I just want to be better than - " he broke off. 

"Better than Terry," Ian supplied. "Yeah, I get it," he shifted Geno's position on his chest and the baby sighed sleepily. "That's all I ever wanted too, you know. To be better than Frank." _And Monica_ , he thought to himself with a wince. Some shadows weren't so easily outrun. 

"Well, mission accomplished," Mickey grinned at him, missing Ian's sudden discomfort, for which he was grateful. "Tell you what. I'll let you be the good dad. I'm fine with mediocrity. Long as I outdo my old man, like you said. It'll be my biggest accomplishment. They can carve it on my headstone someday..Mickey Milkovich - he was better than Terry."

Ian laughed. "Me too. Ian Gallagher, better than Frank. We'll be matching graves, side by side."

"Nah man, they're going to bury us in the same grave, coffins on top of each other, like those old folks who die on the same day and shit."

"Sure," Ian snorted. "You'll be on the bottom."

Mickey flicked the remaining drops of his beer at him. "Fuck you," Despite himself, he couldn't stop grinning.

"That's where I was going with that," Ian shot back, and laughed so hard that he almost woke up the baby.

* * *

  
Mandy stood in the kitchen, watching her brother and Ian laugh as she separated plates onto the counter so that Svetlana could fill them with stroganoff. She slapped the last plate down a little harder than necessary and Svetlana turned to her.

"You OK?"

"People need to stop asking me that," Mandy jerked open the silverware drawer, grabbing a handful of forks. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Svetlana shrugged as she walked over to the opposite cupboard and began to pull out glasses. The only sound for the next minute was the quiet clink of dishes and the boys' muffled laughter from the living room.

When Svetlana spoke again, it was so quiet that Mandy almost missed it.  "My father hurt me too, you know."

"What?" Mandy turned to face her, and Svetlana met her look head on.  "He used me up until there was nothing left. Then he sold me so that other men could use me too." Her voice was expressionless as she began to fill the plates again. "That is how I came here. But you knew that already."

"Do you - " Mandy could feel her voice threatening to break. She shot a wary look over at the couch, relieved to see Mickey and Ian still deep in conversation. "Do you still love him?"

"Yes," Svetlana finished filling the last plate. "He was not always a bad man. When I was little, he was like a hero to me. I did not get along with my mother. My sister and brother were her favorites - she acted like I did not come from her at all. He protected me from her. He made me feel safe, like I was worth something." Her lips twisted slightly. "I guess I was worth something to him. Three hundred American dollars, it turns out."

Mandy swallowed hard. She wanted to say something comforting, but the words got swallowed up in the rush of what did come out of her mouth. "What would you do if you ever saw him again?"

"I would cut his throat," Svetlana said simply. She finished what she was doing and looked up to see Mandy staring at her. "I know what I am worth now, you see."

Mandy couldn't think of a single thing to say in response. Svetlana started to move past her, carrying the plate she just filled in one hand, then paused. Gently, she pressed her fingers to Mandy's cheek, just for a few seconds. Then she was on her way to the small card table that was their makeshift dining nook, leaving the younger woman with an oddly soothing warmth where her fingers had been and even darker thoughts than she'd been struggling with before.

Because it wasn't over. Mickey could laugh with Ian, he could pretend that moving out of their childhood home ended it, but Mandy knew better. Terry wasn't going to let either one of them go that easily. He would come for them. He would come for _her_. And she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do when he did. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a while; lots of stuff going on at home right now. Thanks so much for reading; all feedback always appreciated!
> 
> You can find me at http://avalonia320.tumblr.com/


	6. Slipped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian is thrown by a remnant of his past, and Mandy's continuing downward spiral threatens to take everyone with her.

 

“You’re killing me here, Geno.”  Ian bounced the tot in his arms, crossing the apartment for the umpteenth time as Geno whimpered.  “Yeah, I know.  Teething’s no fun for you either, huh?”  Adjusting the baby’s weight to his other arm, he reached the wall, did a quick about face, and paced in the other direction.  They’d been doing this for nearly an hour now - every time he set the kid down, Geno began to howl.  Constant motion was the only thing that seemed to keep his mind off his teething pains, but Ian was starting to feel like he was going to lose his mind if he had to spend the rest of the night walking in circles around their new abode.  

It didn’t help that he was home alone, and there was no one to give his arms a rest.  Mandy was at work, and Svetlana and Mickey were pulling an all nighter.  Since Mickey had made his wife more of a partner in their skin trade business, she’d taken much more of an interest in their mutual endeavor, coming up with new ideas to expand, even some legal ones, like setting up a website where ‘models’ could live chat and more with paying customers from around the world, ala Veronica’s old setup.  She’d also come up with the idea of hiring the girls out for events, one night bashes and the like etc, with Mickey there to play bouncer so things didn’t get out of hand. They were at their first outside paying gig tonight, a bachelor party at some fancy hotel, and Ian didn’t expect them back until dawn, if his own experience at such parties was any indication.  He didn’t mention that part to Mickey though - his boyfriend was sensitive enough about Ian’s dancing days without having to hear all the details.

“Let’s try something else, huh?”  Ian returned his attention to the fussing infant in his arms.  “Let’s see what Auntie Fiona brought for you, OK?”  He carried Geno into the kitchenette and transferred him to one arm so he could dig through the plastic bag on the counter.  He’d called Fiona yesterday desperate for advice, and she’d shown up with a care package to help out.  Going through it now, he found tubes of Oragel, packages of teething biscuits, extra bibs for the sure to be epic drooling, and a few water filled teething toys, which reminded him he’d already put one in the freezer yesterday.

“OK, let’s give this a try,”  He set Geno down on the counter and uncapped the medicine, rubbing some on Geno’s gums.  The boy spat in response, giving Ian a disgusted look, and he laughed.  “Yeah, tastes like shit, I know.  But it will help.  I hope.”  He picked him back up, wandering over to the freezer to retrieve the teethiing toy.

Geno gnawed on his frozen treat as they ambled around the kitchen.  After a few minutes, his whimpers began to subside.  He even began to giggle at some of Ian’s offhand entreaties.  “Feeling better, huh?  Good.  Maybe you can let me sit down for a while.”

He carried Geno back into the living room, plopping the baby down on a toy filled blanket covering the ugly brown carpet.  To his relief, Geno didn’t immediately shriek in protest, instead picking up a lighted musical toy and happily banging on the buttons.  

Relieved, Ian sat down next to him, leaning against the couch and reaching for the remote on the coffee table.  After a few minutes of perusing basic cable and finding nothing but infomericals and Dr. Phil reruns, he turned the tv off.  Fuck, for what they were paying a month he’d think the networks would throw in a little skin every once in a while.  

He tapped his feet restlessly, half watching Geno play, until he jumped up.  “Might as well finish unpacking since I don’t have anything better to do, right?”  

Geno side-eyed him as he continued to chew on his teething toy, clearly unimpressed with Ian’s status update.  Ian chuckled, ruffling the little hair the boy had. “”Whatever, kid.  Be right back.”

He hurried into the small bedroom he and Mickey shared and for a moment he was struck again at how incredibly mind blowing it was to realize how much life had changed in these last few months.  He and MIckey were together.  Fucking living together. Everyone knew it. They had their own bedroom, even.  Svetlana had gotten the larger one, since she had to share with Geno and his vast assortment of baby furniture, and Mandy...well, Mandy had definitely gotten the short end of the straw when it came to their new living arrangements.  Her ‘bedroom’ was really just the barely bigger than a closet area that their landlord had enthusiastically described as ‘office space’.  Fiona had ended up giving her Ian’s old cot sized bed, since it was the only thing that would fit.  She didn’t even have her own door, just a beaded, Swinging Seventies style curtain they’d hung up.   At least they tried to make it up to her by letting her pay a smaller portion of rent.

There really wasn’t much unpacking left to do.  All the Gallaghers, plus V and Kev, had showed up to help them move in, providing most of their limited amount of furniture at the same time.  Plus Mickey and Mandy had maybe three boxes each of personal possessions.  Neither one of them seemed inclined to take more from their father’s house.  It was Ian who’d had the lion’s share; years worth of debris scattered all over the Gallagher house.  He wasn’t even sure what was still left in all the boxes that his family had helpfully packed up for him, but it seemed like a good time to find out.

A quick peek back through the doorway assured him that Geno was still contentedly playing, so he pulled the first box towards him and flipped out his pocket knife to cut it open.

‘Ian - STORAGE’ was written on the top in Fiona’s handwriting.  A thick layer of dust covered the cardboard.  Strange - seemed like this box had been sitting somewhere for months, not just the last week or so.

He cut it open and froze as the familiar camo pattern of his fatigues came into view.  The full set was there, pants, jacket, a stack of khaki shirts underneath it.  He pulled them out and tossed them aside to reveal another set of darker camo pants, one leg cut off to make shorts he’d never finished.  

Beneath that he found the remnants of his long held obsession, stacks of military magazines, West Point brochures, a never opened GPS wrist unit, ROTC gear and old awards…

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, and then he gathered up the fatigues, shoving them back in the box, throwing everything else in a jumble.  He forced the lid closed best he could, lacking tape to reseal it, snatched a marker off the dresser, and scrawled TRASH in capital letters, crossing out his name in the process.  With that, he picked up the box and threw it in the closet.  He’d take it out to the dumpster now if he could, but he couldn’t leave Geno alone.  At least he could get it out of his sight.

He tried to close the closet door, but the box was too big.  He kicked it repeatedly, trying to force it back.  The box flipped onto its side, spilling the contents onto the closet floor.  “Fuck!”  He slammed the closet door closed - he’d deal with it later.

He tried to steady his irregular breathing as he hurried back to the living room.  To his relief, Geno was asleep on the floor, cherubic face peaceful, his face pressed into his chew toy.  Carefully, Ian picked him up, praying silently the baby wouldn’t awaken.  His luck held - Geno was out like a light.  He barely stirred when Ian settled him into his crib.

Ian headed straight from there to the fridge, opening it to survey the row of Budweisers on the shelf.  He started to reach for one, but his eye was caught by something else, A bottle of Jack Daniels sparkled down at him from the top of the fridge, a splurge lying in wait to celebrate a really good day or improve a really bad one.  And if this didn’t qualify, he didn’t know what did.

* * *

 

A good thirty minutes later, Ian was forced to admit that the Jack Daniels was a bust.  It was probably his fucking medication, messing with his tolerance, but drinking wasn’t nearly as fun as it used to be.  He’d barely finished a third of the bottle, but it was hitting him like a sledgehammer and not in a good i’m-so-fucking-hammered type of way.  He felt like he’d taken fifty sleeping pills and his mood was shittier than ever.  

He didn’t even know why he was so upset.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t remembered that he’d blown his future to hell; like he’d forgotten all the years in ROTC, swaggering around thinking he was going to be some Army hotshot someday.  It’s just that he wasn’t expecting it to be suddenly thrown in his face like that.  He didn’t even know why Fiona would have brought that box of stuff over - but no, she wouldn’t have.  Undoubtedly, she’d packed up everything she thought would be an upsetting reminder of what he’d thrown away way back when he’d first been diagnosed.  Somebody had seen his name on it and grabbed it by mistake.  

He did not want to spend the rest of the night thinking about this - it wasn’t going to lead to anywhere good.  At least the alcohol was making him tired - sleeping seemed like the perfect activity right now.

He had nearly given into it when the banging of the front door jolted him out of his stupor.  Opening bleary eyes, he watched Mandy slam the front door shut as she entered.  “Hey,” she called out as she passed him, already pulling off her Waffle Cottage uniform as she headed towards her bedroom.

“Hey you,’ he called back, relieved she was speaking to him of her own free will, even if she didn’t sound like she was in the best of moods.  Things had finally started to get normal between her and Mickey again the last few days - Ian didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to hear two people call each other ‘fuckface’ and ‘retarded bitch’ in his life.

Mandy strolled back into the living room a minute later in nothing but black underwear, pulling her white tank top over her bare chest, smirking when Ian quickly looked away.  “You’re lucky I’m wearing this, shy boy.  Too fucking hot for clothes.”  With that, she flopped next to him on the couch.  

“Bad day?”  Ian asked her, noting the rigid set of her shoulders and the hard line of her mouth.  

Mandy scowled.  “Your dumb fuck brother brought his sorority bitch to the diner tonight.  One piece of pie, two coffees - they still took a fucking hour to eat since they could barely keep their tongues out of each others mouths.  Then the stupid bitch gives me a twenty and tells me to ‘keep the change, sweetie’.  Almost ‘sweetie’d’ her right in her fucking smug face.”

Ian took another swallow of JD and wiped his mouth.  “You’re holding over-tipping against Amanda now?”

Mandy glared at him.  “I don’t need pity tips from that condescending cunt,” she snapped.  “She and Lip sitting there acting like they feel sorry for me or something.  Why can’t they just stay the fuck away?”

True enough, Ian thought to himself.  He didn’t know what the hell Lip was thinking when it came to Mandy.  All the dumbass was doing was rubbing salt in her wounds.  He made a mental note to go over there tomorrow and hit Lip a couple of times until his brother got the ‘don’t call, don’t write’ message a little more clearly

“Want some?”  He tipped the bottle in her direction.

Mandy eyed it suspiciously.  “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink on your meds.”

Ian set the bottle down on the scarred coffee table with a thump.  “Doc didn’t say I couldn’t drink, he said to keep it light.”

Mandy raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah, that looks real light.”

Ian glowered at her, picking up the bottle and taking another defiant swig.  “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do.  Hear it enough from Lip and Fiona.”

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me for caring,”  Mandy slumped back on the couch, looking away from him.  “Do whatever you want then.”

“Hey,” Ian set the bottle back down.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take my shit out on you.”

Mandy’s face softened slightly, and she gave him a half smile.  “It’s okay.  Guess I’m not the only one who had a bad day.”

Ian’s head was beginning to throb.  He gestured towards the bottle.  “I’m done anyway.  Rest of it’s yours.”

“Nah,” Mandy shrugged off his offer and sat back up, grinning suddenly.  “I got something better,”  She reached into her black bra, extracting a small square which she presented with a flourish.

Ian stared at it.  “What the fuck is that?”

“Hit of acid,”  Mandy’s eyes sparkled.  “I ran into an old friend and he hooked me up.  I’m about to take a trip old school style.  Want to come?”  She held out the tab.  “I’ll share.”

For a moment, Ian was seriously tempted, then he shook his head.  “I’ll pass.  Had enough tonight; plus I’m watching Geno.”

“Well, he’s asleep, isn’t he?”  Mandy waited for his nod expectantly.

“Yeah, but…”  Ian trailed off.

“Your loss,”  With that, Mandy popped the tab onto her tongue and settled into the corner of the couch.  "One Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, coming right up!”

Ian chuckled as he recapped the Jack Daniels bottle.  Mandy was quiet for a minute, eyes closed, before she opened them again to look at him.

“So, what were you drinking to forget?  Mickey being an ass again?”

“No.  He’s been great, actually.  Better than I deserve.”  God, his head was really starting to pound.  Nice little joke; he didn’t even get to enjoy being drunk before he got the hangover.

“What the fuck are you talking about, ‘better than you deserve’?”  Mandy demanded, uncurling from her corner.

He was feeling too crappy to dissemble.  “Look at me, Mandy.  I fucked everything up.  I had dreams and goals and a fucking future.  I was in ROTC, I was getting halfway decent grades, I mean, I thought I was going to get into West Point. Now I’m a joke.  A fucking mental case, high school dropout back to making minimum wage at the Kash and Grab.  No prospects, no future.  What can I offer anyone, least of all Mickey?”

Mandy snorted.  “I’m sorry; you’re wondering what you can offer my brother, the ex juvenile delinquent high school dropout turned pimp?  Because he’s bringing so much to the table?”

Ian shot her a frigid look.  “Come on.  He’s practically carried me these last few months.  I want to be more for him than just another person he has to take care of.”

“OK, first of all, you’re not a mental case.  I mean, we’ve all got our shit.  And you can still go back to school, you know.,”  Mandy pointed out. “Maybe even college. Just take on an assload of unpayable student loans like the rest of our generation.  Everybody’s going to go bankrupt at the same time anyway, what can they do, right?”

“Yeah, and what would I do in college anyway?  I’m not good at anything.  Not really interested in anything either.  There’s only one thing I ever wanted.”

Mandy gave him a deliberate look at that, and Ian managed a smile.  “OK, two things.  And the military - well, I’ve fucked that up beyond belief.  At least they gave me a dishonorable discharge; beats prison, I guess.”

“Well, at least you got one thing you wanted.  That’s more than most of us get.”

Ian nodded again, rubbing his temples.  “Yeah.  I know.”

Mandy leaned forward and touched his face.  “Cheer up.  It’s going to be OK.  You’re a Gallagher - you and your whole happy clan always land on your feet.”

Ian tried to smile at that but couldn’t quite manage it.  Even in his Jack Daniels induced haze, he knew he was acting like a whiny little bitch.  Mandy was right; he had something incredible.  And yet - how could he possibly explain it to her so that she’d understand?  How could anyone understand?  The military hadn’t been just a impulse; a kid’s fantasy..  When you plan and hope and imagine something for so long, it becomes something so beyond a dream.  It was something that became a part of him.  He used to lie in bed at night and dream about his future; the places he would see, where he would go, what his life would mean.  It had all been so clear.  

Now, when he laid there late at night, after Mickey had fallen asleep, there was - nothing.  Just a vast, empty space.  Nothing left to reach for anymore.

Mandy was still watching him.  “You know what?  You need this more than I do.”

Before he realized her intention, Mandy pressed her mouth to his and he tasted traces of cinnamon, stale coffee and cigarettes as her tongue touched his and withdrew, leaving behind the partially dissolved tab.  She pulled away, smiling like a five year old caught being naughty.  “Enjoy!”

Ian couldn’t help but laugh at her expression, even as he considered spitting it out.  Fuck it.  He was already drunk enough to pay for it anyway; might as well go balls out and do something he might actually enjoy.  “Thanks.”

“No problem,”  Mandy wound her fingers through his, and together, they settled back to enjoy the ride.

 

* * *

 

It took some time for Ian to begin to feel it...an hour, two days...he didn’t know and he couldn’t have cared less.  God, he felt fantastic.  He hadn’t moved from the couch, but it was like the world had transformed around him. the air shifting and twirling to reveal colors that he’d never been able to comprehend before.  Everything was so vivid, so - alive.  It was like he’d been blind his whole life and tonight was the first time he’d seen clearly. The colors, the amazing, incredible colors...it was almost like he could see the texture of the air, spin the molecules around on his fingertips, redirect reality...

“This is fucking amazing,”  he managed to tear his eyes away from the shifting walls to locate Mandy. God, she was beautiful...all black and purple and ivory…  “Why haven’t I ever tried this before?”

Beside him on the couch, Mandy drew her knees up to her chest, shivering.  A sideways glance at Ian’s blissed out face told her that while they may have begun this trip together, they had arrived in two entirely different destinations.  She felt so cold, the kind of cold that saturated your bone marrow first and spread outward, freezing you one tiny cell at a time.  It was hard to breathe - the room was shrinking around her, wrapping dark around her like an unwelcome embrace.  Even darker shadows had begun to unfurl from the corners, and she shrank back as they drifted slowly across the room towards her; oh God, she couldn’t look - what if they had faces?  What if they had eyes?  She couldn’t stand to see all those eyes looking down at her…

The tremors had turned into full on body shakes and she huddled into Ian’s chest.  He felt so warm compared to the frost covering her.

“Hey, Mandy…”  Ian wrapped an arm around her.  “Isn’t this incredible?  Do you see it all?”

The only sound that escaped her throat was a desperate whimper, and she clung to him harder.  

“What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t raise her head for a long moment, sickeningly terrified of what she’d see if she did, but finally she hazarded a peek at his face.  No, it was OK...he was still her Ian, his face the only beacon of light in the black room.  

“You’re crying,”  Ian still had that dopey grin on his face, but his unfocused eyes were concerned.  “Don’t cry,” he urged, and his big hands were on each side of her face, pressing heat into her skin and melting the ice away where he touched.  He wiped away her tears with his thumbs.  “You’re OK,” he whispered into her hair.

“You’re the only one who cares, you know,” she whispered back, and like her words were a curse unleashed, the shadows around her transformed into the faces she’d been dreading, and they were all there, everyone who’d ever hurt her, everyone who didn’t give a fuck, staring at her, faces twisting into grotesque masks.

“Oh God,” she wrapped her arms tightly around Ian and buried her face in his neck.  “Oh God, please make it stop, make them go away…!”

“What?”  Ian was giggling as he looked around and the sound was like shockwaves rippling up her spine.  How could he laugh at a time like this?  “Mandy, you’re missing it.  Open your eyes, look around...it’s fucking fantastic!”  He tried to shake her loose, but she clung even tighter.  “Come on, don’t you see it?”  He ran his fingers up and down her bare arm.  “I feel like electricity is traveling all over me...can you feel that?”

She would have given anything at that moment to be able to see what he saw, felt what he felt.  What she did feel when he touched her was incredible warmth. and she was desperate for more - he was the only thing keeping the freezing and the dark at bay.  “Ian…”  she needed him closer...all over her, protecting her; she’d crawl inside him if she could…

Her shirt felt like a layer of ice between them and she peeled it off, flinging it away, but his was still in the way and so she tugged at it until until he lifted his arms, looking confused, and let her pull it off.  “Mandy - “ he began, and she shut him up by pressing her cold lips to his hot ones.  He laughed into open mouth, saying something incomprehensible, and she didn’t stop, she couldn’t stop, she kissed him over and over until his arms enfolded her and he began kissing her back.

It all seemed to melt together then, his hands, her hands, she wasn’t sure who was touching who, who was pulling off whose clothes, all she knew was she needed him nearer and even when she pulled him down on top of her, guided him inside her, it wasn’t enough to melt all the shadows away, but it was enough to keep her from looking at them and for now, that was all that mattered.

__________________________________________________________________

Geno was crying.

Ian could hear him, but he couldn’t find him, didn’t even know how to try.  He felt disembodied, arms, legs, head totally disconnected, no eyes to open to look, nothing but dark around him, and Geno was crying desperately, louder, and he had to get to him, but how?

“I’m coming…”  the sound of his own voice was like a lightning bolt.  If he could talk, he was still in one piece, he could still move, he could still -

“Geno!”  With a jolt, Ian tore his eyes open and everything surged back in around him.  He was lying on his back on the couch, and muted dawn was starting to light the apartment.  It was getting hot already, and he was sweating profusely, the suffocating feeling not made easier by the fact that Mandy was sprawled on top of him, doubling the heat.

It took him a moment to notice that she was naked.  A beat longer to recognize that he was too.  Their clothing was scattered on the floor all around the couch.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as dim memories came back in jagged bits and pieces.  

“Hmmm…”  Mandy moaned lightly as he tried to push her off of him.  “Let me sleep…”  Abruptly, her eyes opened, then widened as she stared at him.  She sat up, and he could see the same awareness dawn in her horrified eyes.  “Holy fucking shit,”

“Geno’s crying,” he said dumbly as she sat there, open mouthed.  As if on cue, Geno’s screams grew louder - not the normal ‘i’m awake and bored’ cry Ian was used to hearing in the mornings, but a desperate, sobbing shriek of a truly miserable baby.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Mandy pushed herself off of him.  “Fuck.  We didn’t really - “  she gave up on her denial.  “Son of a fucking bitch!.”

“Oh God,”  Ian stared around them.  “Mickey…”

“Is going to be home any minute!”  Mandy seemed to be grasping the gravity of their situation much faster than he was.  She jumped off the couch, frantically sorting through the garments at their feet.  ”

“Oh Jesus,”  Ian stumbled to his feet too, looking desperately around.  The first item he picked up was Mandy’s sock and she snatched it out of his hands.

“Ian, don’t fall apart on me now.  Just put your fucking clothes on and we can both forget this ever happened, ok?  No one ever needs to know.”  She threw the sock aside.  “Where the fuck is my underwear?”

Ian was looking for his own, but his head felt like it was filled with lead, weighted down.  Clearly, he was still high; everything felt like it was slow motion and he was trying to swim through air the consistency of jelly.  He found his shirt, but as quickly as he picked it up he dropped it.  Finally, he found his underwear peeking out from underneath the couch cushion.

“Hurry the fuck up!”  Mandy hissed at him, tearing the couch apart in search of her own clothing.

“I’m trying!”  Ian was trying to balance on one leg to get his underwear on, stumbling around like his father after all nighter.

And then they heard it, the sound of the key in the lock.

There was about twenty thousand more intelligent things they could have done instead of freeze in place like a deer caught in fast moving headlights.  But that’s exactly what they did do, the threat of imminent discovery holding them in a guilty tableau.

Mickey and Svetlana were laughing as they came through the door - laughing - at some remembered stripper malfunction from the sound of it.  Ian’s heart stopped as Mickey’s eyes locked onto him and the grin froze and faded.  He took in the underwear that Ian was still frantically trying to pull on, and then his eyes drifted past him, to the clothes still discarded on the floor, and then to the equally shamed, equally undressed Mandy.  Ian felt his guts shrivel as realization hardened Mickey’s eyes.

“What the fuck?!”

“What’s wrong with Geno?”  Svetlana demanded at the same time, and then she was running past them to the bedroom to get to her son.

“MIckey…”  Ian whispered.  He pulled on his underwear, glad for a second to look away, not wanting to see Mickey’s face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  Mickey’s voice was low and deadly.  

“Mickey, it was a mistake - “ Mandy began but Mickey fixed her with such a ferocious glare that she whirled and ran, disappearing into her bedroom.

Mickey closed the gap between them until he was right in front of Ian.  “Please tell me this is all some hilarious misunderstanding. Tell me this didn’t really happen..”

Jesus.  The way Mickey was looking at him - he’d seen MIckey hurt before, angry before, even devastated.  He’d never seen him look so fucking destroyed - so betrayed.  “Mickey, please, just listen - “  Ian reached out for him.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”  Mickey exploded. “My sister, Gallagher?  My fucking sister?!”

Ian could feel the tears starting.  “Let me explain - “  

Mickey barked out an astonished laugh.  “Explain?  You think you can explain this away?  Is that your idea of a joke?”  He snatched up the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels from the coffee table.  “Explain it to the fucking wall.  I’m out of here.”

With that, he stomped towards the door.  Ian tried to stumble after, but MIckey was gone within seconds, slamming it so hard behind him that the whole apartment rattled.

Ian stood there, staring at the door, feeling himself shatter into a million pieces.

There had been one good thing in his life.  The only thing that had mattered.

Gone.

  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey struggles with Ian's betrayal.
> 
> This is a short chapter, just two scenes, but it's rather pivotal to what's coming next. Plus, I just need a breath before I write the next one, which is going to be pretty intense.

 

It had only been seconds since Mickey had slammed out of the apartment but it felt like an eternity to Ian as he frantically fumbled on the rest of his clothing, desperately looking around for his shoes.

“Ian!”  He looked up at Svetlana speaking his name like an invective.  She was standing in front of him, holding a still sobbing Geno.  “He's soaked.  Hungry too.  You were too busy to notice, yeah?”  Her scornful gaze shriveled him.  

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.  “I was out of it. I was - high.”  

Svetlana's lips twisted at his mumbled confession.  “You got high when you were watching my son,” she returned coldly..  Clearly he wasn't making things better for himself.  “High enough to think fucking your boyfriend’s sister was a good idea.  Stupid fucking idiot!”

There was nothing Ian could say in his own defense.  She’d pretty much summed it up.

“Take him,”  Svetlana said abruptly, starting to hand him Geno.

Ian was amazed she’d even consider letting him near Geno again, but it didn’t matter anyway.  “I can't,”  He bent down to pull on his shoes.  “I have to find Mickey - “

“ _No_ ,”  Ian looked up at her tone.  “ _I_ will go find Mickey.  You stay here and actually watch Geno this time, understand?”

Ian started to protest and Svetlana fixed him with a look that promised imminent death by screwdriver if he didn't cooperate.  “Sorry, carrot boy.  Today wife outranks boyfriend.”  With that, she pushed Geno into his arms and disappeared through the front door, leaving a deeply frustrated Ian behind.

* * *

"Fuck!"

Mickey was halfway to his piece of shit car before he remembered that Svetlana had the keys.  No fucking way was he going back inside now.  He couldn’t even fathom how he’d be able to look at Mandy and I - God, he couldn’t even think his name right now.

Didn’t matter anyway.  All he wanted right now was to be alone, and his go-to destination whenever the world shit on him was just a few blocks away.

As he walked, swinging the bottle of Jack Daniels he’d taken from the apartment,,  he tried not to think, tried to reassure himself it was just a few minutes before he could sit and drink and let the world fall away.

But the images wouldn’t stop coming.

Ian.

With  _Mandy_ .

The look on their faces when he’d walked in the apartment, the blatant guilt that made any other explanation for their undressed state impossible. The two people he loved the most in this world.  The two people he would have trusted with anything.

This couldn’t be happening.  Where the fuck had this even come from?  He’d known his sister wasn’t in a good place, but what had he ever done to her to deserve this; to make her take away the one thing in his entire fucked existence that had ever made him happy?

_Happy_.  He’d really been there.  He’d been happy.  He’d thought Ian was happy too.  What a fucking joke.  He should have known.  When had this life ever given him anything and not snatched it back?

He was there now, crossing an overgrown, trash strewn field to look up at the broken buildings before him.  Unbidden, new images flashed before him - he saw Ian, laying on the ground in this same place, broken.  

He saw himself, aiming a kick that threw Ian’s head back and caused more blood to gush from his mouth.  He saw himself walking away, just leaving him, abandoning him to bleed alone.

Was this why?  Because he’d known all along that he didn’t deserve him.  Known deep in the darkest corners of his heart that he’d lose Ian, sooner or later.   Funny enough, he’d always imagined that he’d be the one to fuck it up.  Maybe this was just karma’s way of balancing the scales.

He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath as the pain crashed into him.  God.  It was real.  This was happening.   Twenty minutes ago, he’d had a life, he had laughter, he had meaning.

And now there just - nothing.  He was empty.  Worthless.  Lost.  All over again.

But now it was so much worse, because he knew what it was like on the other side.  And it burned so much; this frantic, desperate longing, this need to run back home right now and start the day over, walk in like nothing happened, beg the universe not to take this away from him again.  How was he supposed to go on from this?  How was he supposed to do anything else but lie on the ground and silently die?

“Mickey?”

He straightened up with a choked gasp at the sound of his own name.

Jesus. Svetlana.  Maybe not the last person he wanted to see right now, but pretty damn close.

She came hurrying towards him, wobbling slightly on her ridiculous hooker heels, faintly out of breath.  “I call you for two blocks now!  Didn’t you hear me?”

“Fuck off,” he turned away.

“Mikhail!”

Unbidden, he turned towards her, abruptly taken back to years ago, when another voice had spoken his full name with a nearly identical accent.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he snarled as she neared him.

She stopped a few feet away from him, eyeing him warily, before she turned to survey the landscape, looking at the broken buildings that loomed over them.

Hoping that if he ignored her, she’d get the message, he turned and started to walk towards the closest doorway.  But  since even the smallest thing he wanted at the moment, which was just to be alone for one goddamn minute, was clearly too much to ask, Svetlana was right beside him.  

"So this is your place?"  she asked.

He stopped just before the entrance, glowering at her in response.

She quirked her lips at his glare.  "Where you go, I mean.  You used to disappear for hours, almost every day."

Mickey gritted his teeth.  Now the bitch was always going to know where to find him.  "Yes," he finally snarled.  "I come here to be alone.  ALONE.  So would you please fucking leave?"

“You’ve been alone enough,” she responded flatly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Jesus, what the fuck do you want?!” he ground out impatiently.

She shrugged.  “I thought maybe I could help.  Talk to you.”

He stared at her.  “You’re kidding, right?”

She glared back at him silently.  After a moment he dropped his hands in resignation.  “Fine.  Talk.”

Svetlana studied him, biting her lip.  “I don’t know what to say.”

His laugh at that surprised both of them.  “Perfect.”  He studied her half pissed, half worried expression.  Well, goddamn.  He could be wrong, since he seemed to misjudge people most of the time, but this just might be his hard as nails hooker wife trying to _care_.  

He uncapped the Jack Daniels bottle and took a long drink, then held it out to her.  “Want some?”

She gave it a disdainful look.  “Barely enough to wet my lips,”  She waved it away.  “So...you don’t want to talk.  I don’t really want to listen to you whine about Orange Boy anyway.  So let’s go find a bar and get drunker than we’ve ever been in our lives, yes?”

“When it comes to you, that’d really be something to see,” he returned, and she smirked.

Fuck it.  If he had to be with someone, it might as well be her, not someone who’d want to hold his hand and expect him to chat about his fucking feelings.  “Why not?”

Svetlana smiled, and to his surprise, she reached out and took his arm, tucking hers under it, as if they were a real couple out on a stroll.  “Let’s go.”

They’d barely taken more than three steps before a figure stepped out of the shadows to their right, blocking their path.

“Well, well.  Looky at what we got here,” the words were a mocking drawl.  “I’ve been looking for you.”

Mickey stared in disbelief and quickly building horror at the sneering face before him.

Fucking hell.

_ Terry. _

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. Next chapter should be - interesting.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I can also be found at http://avalonia320.tumblr.com/


	8. All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse for Mickey and Svetlana as they face off with Terry.
> 
> And since this chapter features the aforementioned Bad Daddy, I must warn you that ALL the warnings apply. Threats of violence, actual violence, mentions and threats of sexual assault, all the homophobic slurs, etc.

He was not ready for this. 

All those times Mickey had fantasized about this for the last few months, seeing his father again, the things he’d say, the retribution he’d dole out...it had seemed so easy.  So _right_.

But now, face to face with his father’s familiar sneer, watching Terry’s weathered knuckles twitch and slowly close into fists, it took him right back.  Back to being five years old again, hiding in his closet under piles of pillows and dirty clothes, making believe if he was just quiet enough, he’d disappear right out of his father’s mind and be safe in the dark forever.

His mind screamed at him to do something, strike first, and yet there he stood, frozen.

“Gotta say, this is a nice little surprise.  Running into you here, fruit of my loins - ‘ _fruit_ ’ being the operative word,”  his father laughed now but his eyes sparked danger warnings.  “Say something, bitch.  Otherwise, I might think you’re not happy to see your old man.”

He could see the recognition of his own weakness in Terry’s mocking tone and he was disgusted with himself, sick down to his toes with the knowledge of his own helplessness.

“When did you get out?” he finally managed, forcing the words through his numb lips.

“Yesterday,” Terry stepped forward, closing the distance between them.  “And I gotta score to settle with you, Mickey.”  His voice was smooth, calm, and Mickey knew this too well, the buildup before an explosion carefully crafted and savored, calculated for maximum damage.

“Get out of here,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth to Svetlana as her fingers tightened on his arm.

 “I'm not leaving you!”  she hissed back.

 “Aw, this is almost sweet!  Look at you two, the faggot and the whore, all cozy like. Don’t worry though, she's not going anywhere.  I got unfinished business with both of you.” Terry surveyed the two of them, smiling the way a mugger smiles as he watches his unknowing victim turn alone into a dark alley.  He turned his focus back on Mickey.  “See, I don’t give a shit that your pansy ass packed up and left.  I didn’t expect you to be stupid enough to stick around.  And I would have let you go, been fucking happy to never hear your name again, but who gave you permission to take anybody with you, huh? I didn’t say you could take my slut here.  I didn’t say you could take Yvgeny.  And I most definitely didn’t say that you could take _Mandy_!”   

His voice rose furiously and his face mottled red.  “Where is she?  Where's my princess?!”  He grabbed Mickey around the collar, yelling the last directly into his face, spittle flying.

That was it.  As soon as Terry touched him, Mickey’s vision was awash in a sea of red.  He shook Svetlana’s restraining grip off his arm and charged.  The five year old was uncovered, out of the closet, on his feet in front of the monster under the bed, and it was him who guided Mickey’s fist right into Terry’s face.  That once shaking child who watched Terry's nose crack and blood erupt with a gloating sense of satisfaction.

“You don’t ever touch her again!”  He was screaming the words as Terry doubled over, choking.  “You don’t ever come near her again, or anyone of us, you fucking understand me?”

“You ungrateful little fudge packer! You don’t have anything I didn’t fucking give you! ”  Terry was on his feet in an instant, and he launched himself at Mickey as Svetlana screamed, striking him so hard that Mickey was thrown off balance, stunned by the force of the blow.  “ You ruined my family, you know that?  Even turned Iggy against me - I beat that little bitch til he was crying on the floor and he still wouldn’t tell me where you were. You think I'm going to let you get away with it?!” 

His arms were around Mickey’s throat now, choking, and even as Mickey tore desperately at the strangling fingers he was awash in fresh horror.  Oh God, _Iggy_.  The only one of his brothers who actually did know where Mickey and Mandy were, and he’d paid for his silence in blood.

The renewed rage made him fight even harder against his father’s tightening grip even as black spots appeared before his eyes.  Terry’s throttling grip was merciless, impervious to MIckey’s struggles, and he felt his knees began to buckle.

“Let him go!”  Svetlana’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way off.  There was the sound of a blow and Terry’s fingers abruptly slackened.  Gasping, Mickey fell to the ground, desperate for air, just in time to see Terry turn and backhand Svetlana so hard that she also fell to the ground with a soft grunt.

“Stay there, bitch!  When I’m done with this candy ass, I’ll let you suck me off,”  Terry turned back to Mickey, but Mickey was already back on his feet and driving his fist into his father’s face once more.

Caught off guard, Terry staggered, and Mickey knee’d him as hard as he could directly in the stomach.  Terry dropped like a stone with a pained groan. “That’s for Iggy!”  He aimed a kick at his ribs. “That’s for my wife!”  He kicked him again as Terry doubled up.  “That’s for Geno!”  With that, he dropped to his father’s side.  Terry stared up at him mutely, spitting blood out of his mouth.  His father, at his mercy, at long last.  It only fuelled his rage - how many times had it been him, lying there, begging?  His mother?  His brothers?  His sister, crying in the dark for help they were all too cowed to give her? 

“This is for Mandy, you sick piece of shit!”  He drove his fist back into Terry’s face and heard something crack.  Looked like they were even on broken teeth now.  He grabbed his father around the collar, pulling him half way up just to slam him back onto the ground.  “That’s for Ian! And this - “  he aimed another kick, this time directly at Terry’s balls, and the older man cried out as it hit home.  “That’s for me!” 

With that, he leaned down once more to speak directly into his father’s ear even as Terry groaned in agony.  “You got a death wish?  Then come after me again, motherfucker.  Otherwise, you forget me as fast as I’m going to forget you.  You forget all of us.”

“Mickey, please, let’s go!”  Svetlana had gotten back to her feet, and she gestured at him frantically.  Mickey turned to walk away with her, and that’s when Terry hooked his hand around Mickey’s ankle, yanking hard til Mickey lost his balance and fell to the ground.

The next thing he felt was the cold metal of the gun that his father was pressing directly to his face.

“Terry, no, no, please - !“  Svetlana’s desperate entreaty fell on deaf ears.  Terry’s glacial eyes were locked onto his son’s.

 “You are one stupid son of a bitch,”  Terry’s lip curled.  “But you’re my responsibility.  I brought you into this world.  I guess it’s my responsibility to take you out.” 

 Mickey had managed to struggle to his knees but he didn’t dare do more.  Terry was digging the gun into his flesh, marking it.  Behind him, Svetlana’s face was a mask of horror.  Mickey locked eyes with her, begging her silently to run, bargaining frantically with a God he wasn’t even sure he believed in.  _Please God, let her run.  Let her go home, warn Ian and Mandy, get Geno, let them be safe.  Terry can have me - not them. Please, not them._

“I like this, you down on your knees where you belong,”  Terry was savoring the moment, drawing it out.  “I’ll tell you what.  I’ll give you one more chance.  You tell me you’re sorry.  You beg my fucking forgiveness for being a worthless cock gobbling queer and a sorry ass disgrace to the name of Milkovich and I might just shoot you somewhere not fatal.  Let you roll around in a wheelchair and piss through a straw.”

“Fuck you!”  Mickey spat through his clenched teeth.  He might have to die here on his knees but fuck if he was going out like a little bitch. 

 He’d lost sight of Svetlana and he prayed that his silent plea had been heard and she’d finally run. No way would she be able to get help in time for him, but Terry would go to jail for life for this.  And they’d all be safe at last.  God, please.

 “Have it your way, you little sh - “  Terry’s words were broken by a solid thud.  The gun fell away from Mickey’s face as his father fell to his knees in front of him, his eyes bulging with shock.

 Behind him, Svetlana stood gasping, clutching the Jack Daniels bottle she’d just swung at his head.  Terry turned his head towards her in dazed but murderous fury.  “Oh, suka, I’m gonna take that out of your ass to - “

 Svetlana swung the bottle again and it connected with his temple with a sickening thunk. Terry plummeted forward, face down. 

 Even in his shock, Mickey had to admire JD’s commitment to quality craftmanship. Clearly he’d been hitting Terry with the wrong bottles. 

 Svetlana was rattling off invectives in Russian as she grasped the bottle with both hands, ready to bring it down again.  Mickey jumped up, grabbing her wrists.  “Enough; you’re going to kill him!”

 As he spoke, his gaze traveled back to his father’s motionless figure, taking in his ghost white face, his half open eyes, still fixed on Mickey,  yet seeing nothing.

 “Never mind,” he whispered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to watch 3x666 again to really get in the mood to write this. I hope y'all appreciate my sacrifices here. 
> 
> Thank you for reading; all feedback is appreciated!
> 
> http://avalonia320.tumblr.com/


	9. The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Svetlana try to deal with the aftermath of what they've done; Ian is desperate to find out what Mickey is hiding.

All he could do was stare.

Stare numbly at his father’s slack face, the man lying facedown, his face turned towards them, empty eyes still open.  Stare and wait for the man to blink, for rage to contort his features, to leap up and begin his endless stream of threats and manipulation once more.  Because he couldn’t be dead.  He couldn’t be gone.  

This couldn’t be... _over_.

Next to him, Svetlana was still breathing heavily as Mickey continued to restrain her hands.  She struggled now, trying to tear herself away.  Her eyes were wild.

“Svetlana, stop!”  He shook her, hard, then released a wrist to snatch the Jack Daniels bottle out of her hand.  “He's dead!”

The words were release for him as much as her.  Terry was _dead_.

“Good!”  Svetlana snarled, her mouth twisted in fury.  She leaned forward, her lips pursed, and Mickey realized her intention just in time.  “Stop!  No fucking DNA!”  He clapped his hand over her mouth and she spat into his palm instead.  “Fuck!”  Disgusted, he wiped his hands on his jeans.

At his words, her eyes bulged.  It was hitting her then; the way the reality of what they’d just done, just like it was slamming into him.   He saw it in the way the color drained out of her skin.  

“Oh, God,” she whispered then, and continued the prayer in her native language.  He shook her again, lightly this time.

"Keep your shit together," he warned her.  A few seconds of wide eyed staring, and then she managed a quick jerk of her head to show she understood.

Jesus Fucking Christ.  A lifetime of trouble had never prepared him for this.  What the fuck were they going to do?  Going to the police, throwing themselves on the mercy of the law, that wasn’t even a fucking option.  They’d take one look at the immigrant prostitute and her pimp husband and lock them away to rot.  So that left them with exactly one choice: get gone and deny everything.  He could drive a Buick through the holes in that plan, but it was the best he had right now.

 Mickey took the bottle gingerly from her stiff fingers, looking around nervously all the while.  Thank fuck they were isolated here but they still had only minutes, maybe even just seconds before their luck ran out.  He spotted a pile of half rotted clothing, stiff and faded from the relentless sun, a few feet away and ran over to snatch a tattered shirt from the pile.   Quickly he wiped the bottle clean, hopefully eliminating any fingerprints, and then using the shirt still, uncapped the bottle.  Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look at his fathers still face and poured some of the liquor over it.  It ran over his face in amber streams, pooling  on the ground in a sickening red tinged puddle.  Hurriedly he repeated the action with each if his fathers hands.  

"What are you doing?"  Svetlana demanded, her voice shaking slightly.

"Trying to get rid of any evidence," he replied.  His DNA had to be all over Terry, same way that bits of Terry’s face were probably permanently embedded in his knuckles.  He’d seen enough episodes of Law and Order to know that shit would hang you.

“Will that work?”

He shrugged, dropping the Jack Daniels bottle next to Terry's body.  Did it look like he could Google 'How To Cover Up Your Unexpected Homicide for Dummies' right now?  "No idea.  Lets get the hell outta -  "

They both froze when they heard the footsteps, the stomp of heavy feet trudging through the overgrown grass from the other side of the building.

"Fuck!"  Mickey hissed under his breath.  He grabbed Svetlana's arm and hustled her through the nearest doorway into the darkened building.  They pressed themselves against the wall, out of sight of the broken window.  

"Man, where's this fucker at?"  He heard a nasally male voice whine. Mickey hazarded a quick peek out the window to see two men, a short, white guy with long, dirty blond hair escaping from a dirty baseball cap, and his tall, thin, head shaved dark haired companion, looking around the field.  He recognized them vaguely, a couple of neighborhood junkies he'd chased out of the Kash and Grab more than once.

 “Didn't he say he'd be here?”  The shorter one asked, walking in agitated circles as he picked at a sore on his face.

His friend started to respond then stopped short with a gasp.  “Look!”  Mickey stiffened when he saw the man point towards Terry's body, barely visible in the tall grass.  “Shit!  Is that him?”  They approached the body cautiously.  “Terry, man, you ok?”

Mickey flinched in response to his father's name on the other man’s lips.  So Terry had been here to set up a deal; it had just been rotten luck that he and Svetlana had shown up at the same time.  Mostly rotten luck for Terry.  He suppressed a near hysterical laugh at that; he couldn't afford to lose it now.

“Son of a bitch!”  The tall man was yelping now, jumping away from the corpse. “He's fucking dead!”

“Shit!”  His friend scratched even more violently at his chin.  “Got rolled, looks like.  Bet they got his stash.”  

“Check him!”  The other one demanded, and with that they rolled Terry onto his back, earlier reticence gone as they dug through the dead man’s pockets.  

“Score!”  The tweaker crowed triumphantly as he pulled out a plastic  baggie from Terry’s pocket.  

“Fuck yeah! “ His friend encouraged.  “What else he got?”  Mickey watched, amazed and sickened as they happily robbed the corpse without any hesitation whatsoever, scavenging through pockets and taking anything of value.

Mickey’s breath caught as the dark haired man picked up the Jack Daniels bottle then threw it back down in apparent disgust at its empty status.  He paused then and leaned down, and still peeking through the window, Mickey saw him pick up Terry’s gun.  “Sweet!”  He tucked it into his waistband.  

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” his companion was looking even twitchier now.  They both tossed nervous glances around the lot before hurrying away..

Mickey waited an excruciatingly long minute to make sure they were gone.  “K.  Let’s move.”

Svetlana stared at him with wide eyes, unresponsive until Mickey grabbed her by the arm and nearly dragged her through the doorway.  After a few seconds of stumbling beside him she seemed to come to life a bit, wiping the blood from her split lip and keeping up better.

“Act normal,” he muttered to her, cursing the bright sunlight as they walked.  At least it was barely past dawn; not too many people out yet.  He guided the two of them through the back alleys as much as he could, trying to keep out of sight.

It seemed to take an eternity for them to reach their apartment complex.  They took the steps two at a time, Mickey thanking whatever deity there was that they didn’t run into any of their neighbors.  As they turned onto their floor, Svetlana stopped, turning to him.

“What are we going to tell Ian and Mandy?”  she whispered.

Mickey stopped as well.  Hearing Ian’s name again was like a brass knuckle punch directly to the heart, and now it was also twisted up with the shock and adrenaline of what had just happened with Terry.  

Fucking hell.  How was he supposed to deal with all of this?  Ian and Mandy...his father...he already felt like he was barely holding on.  In that instant he wanted to turn and run...run and run and never stop.  Let someone else pick up the pieces and make all the hard decisions.

But there was no one else.  And he was a Milkovich, no matter what his father had said.  Milkoviches didn’t run.   

“Nothing.  We tell them nothing,” he said finally, barely above a whisper.

“But - “  Svetlana started to object.  

“Look, if we tell them, it makes them accessories.  Now I don’t plan on us getting caught, but if we do, we aren’t taking them down with us.  They’ll figure it out soon enough when word gets out Terry’s dead.  Until then, keep your mouth shut.  Got it?”

Svetlana nodded.  Mickey drew in a deep breath, and then unlocked the apartment door, ushering her inside.

Mandy was in the kitchenette, uncapping a bottle of water.  She turned as they entered, but Mickey’s eyes were on Ian, who had jumped up from the floor where he’d been playing with Geno as soon as they entered.

“Mickey - “ he began, then his eyes widened in shock as he took in Mickey’s face.  “What happened to you?!”

“You too!”  Mandy was staring at the rapidly forming bruise on Svetlana’s cheekbone, and her still bleeding lip.  Her eyes swung back and forth between her and Mickey.  “What the fuck - did you two get into it?”

“No!”  Mickey snapped, then stopped.  Shit.  That was what people were going to think when they saw their mutual injuries.  After all, the Battling Mr. and Mrs. Milkovich’s mutual disdain for each other had been a long standing neighborhood joke.  It was as good of an explanation as any, even if he absolutely hated the idea of people believing he was a wife beating punk ass bitch.

Ian crossed the small room in a few strides and then he was far too close, reaching for Mickey’s face.  “Tell me what happened.”

“None of your fucking business,”  Mickey jumped back before he could touch him, and hurt crawled across Ian’s face.

“Come on, Mickey, please - “

Ignoring Ian, Mickey turned back to his wife.  Her face was still bone white, her eyes staring fixedly at nothing.  She was clearly in shock or some shit. “Hey.  Go take a shower,” he told her.

Svetlana stared at him, uncomprehending.  He took her gently by the shoulders.  “Listen to me.  It’s going to be alright.  Take a shower.  I’m going to make you some coffee.  Hurry up, OK?”  With that, he turned her towards the bathroom, giving her a gentle shove.  She went then, tossing a wary look over her shoulder.

“Jesus, Mickey…”  Ian and Mandy were both staring at him.  It was clear from their expressions that they realized something dire had happened.  Ian started to reach for him again and Mickey pulled away once more.

“Don’t.  I can’t deal with you right now, Gallagher,”  Mickey whirled away and headed to the kitchenette to fill the coffeemaker.

Not one to take a hint even if it was skywritten in magenta, Ian followed him.  “I know you’re upset with me - “  

“Upset?!”  Mickey nearly dropped the can of coffee he was holding before he slammed it back down on the counter.  Fuck it; Svetlana could make her own damn coffee.  He turned back to Ian, laughing with absolutely no humor whatsoever.  “You think I’m just upset?  You fucked my sister, Ian!”  

Mandy flinched violently across the room.  Mickey ignored her, his eyes locked on his boyfriend.  Ian was pale, but resolute as he tried again.  “Please, just let me talk to you - “

“NO!”  Mickey turned his back, opening kitchen drawers one after another before he found one full of plastic grocery bags wadded up.  He snatched one and turned back to Ian.  “I’ve got other shit going on.  I cannot do this right now.  Back the fuck off me.”

With that, he pushed past Ian, heading towards the bathroom.  It had no lock, and he didn’t bother to knock.  Svetlana was still in the shower; he heard her gasp behind the plastic curtain at the sound of the door.

“It’s me,”  he gentled his voice.  “I brought you a bag.  I want you to put all your clothes in it, shoes too, understand?  Hurry up; I need to shower too.”

She said something Mickey couldn’t understand under the sound of the water, but he took it as assent anyway.  He turned to go and then stopped, rubbing the steam off the bathroom mirror so he could see his own reflection.  Watery, slightly red rimmed eyes stared back at him.  His lip was split like Svetlana’s and he was getting a hell of a shiner.  He had a ring of red around his neck where his father had attempted to choke the life out of him,  but altogether, he hadn’t fared too badly.  He’d looked much worse after the fight at the Alibi.  This time, it had been Terry who had taken the majority of the damage.   

At the thought of Terry’s name, his hands began to shake.  Cursing himself, he walked out of the bathroom and straight back to the kitchenette.  Ignoring the still unmade coffee, he pulled a bottle of Svetlana’s favorite vodka down from the top of the fridge and poured two shots.  Then he opened the cabinet where they kept Ian’s medication.

“What are you doing?”  Ian was behind him again.  

Mickey gritted his teeth before he snatched the bottles at the front of the cabinet and tossed them at him.  “Take your shit.”

“I already did!” Ian’s voice rose in agitation as he caught the bottles, throwing them back on the counter and glaring at him.  Mickey ignored him, digging through the back of the cabinet before he found what he was looking for; a bottle of rarely used tranquilizers that they had been given when Ian first started going through treatment, when his violent mood swings had been at their worst.  He uncapped the bottle, dumping two pills in his hand.  While Ian stared, he popped one in his mouth and tossed back the shot of vodka to wash it down.

Svetlana emerged from the bathroom then, wrapped in a towel and carrying her bag of clothes.  Mickey gestured her over, taking the bag and handing her the second shot of vodka and the other pill.  “It’ll help you sleep.”

She stared at him in silent disbelief.  “Take it,”  Mickey encouraged, and was relieved when she tossed it back.  They were both fucked if she couldn’t pull herself together.  He plucked the bag from her hand and turned her towards the bedroom.  “Get some rest.”  He watched her walk towards her bedroom like a sleepwalker.  Once she’d disappeared through the door, he looked up to see Ian and Mandy’s wide eyed stares.

“You are scaring the shit out of me, Mickey.  Tell me what happened, please!  Let me help you!”  Ian spread his large hands entreatingly.  Mickey stared at them, longing for just a second to let them enfold him, sink into his embrace and let it all wash away.

Instead, he forced himself to look away.  “You deaf?  I said to back off.  Leave me the fuck alone.”  

“Mickey, fucking stop with the secrecy and tell us what the hell happened!” Mandy burst out.  She faced him, hands on her hips.

Mickey turned slowly, fixing her in a razor sharp glare.  “ _You_ don't ever get to tell me what to do again.”   Each word was delivered with cold deliberation.  He dismissed her with a glance, turning towards the bathroom.   

“I need to shower.  Can you two watch Geno or will you be too busy fucking?”

“C'mon, Mickey!” Ian protested.

“Speaking of which…”  Mickey, reached into his pocket, pulling out a bill and balling it up before he threw it at Mandy  It bounced off her chest, falling to the floor at her feet.  “Get the morning after pill.  I'm not taking care of another fucking Milkovich who’s not mine.”

He saw his sister’s face crumple as she bent to pick it up and god damn if he didn't feel instantly shitty.  Grinding the guilt down as best he could,  Mickey didn’t look at either of them as he went back into the bathroom.  He heard the front door open and slam back shut as he entered and figured she had gone.

After a brief and icy shower, he wrapped himself in a towel, stuffed his clothes in the same bag that contained Svetlana’s, and carried it to his bedroom.  Ian started to speak once again as Mickey passed him but he didn't bother to acknowledge him, shutting the door with a dismissive click behind him.

Once inside, he went straight to the closet, picking up a box marked TRASH that had fallen on its side and burying the bag of clothes inside it.  He’d take the whole thing out later and burn it, hopefully before any search warrants were issued.

His hands were shaking so badly as he tried to pull on a pair of boxers that it took him a few minutes to manage the simple task.  Then he went to the window.  Since their shithole of an apartment lacked what the landlord considered luxuries like curtains, they’d hung up sheets for privacy.  He tucked in the edges, using empty Budweiser bottles from the bedside trashcan and ashtrays to hold down the edges and block the slivers of light.  God, he wished it was night.  He’d never been scared of the dark like other kids growing up.  Dark was soothing.  You could hide in it, like he’d hid in the closet from his father.  It was the light that was terrifying, the beam of it in his eyes when he was discovered and the door was thrown open.  The light would get you every single time.

The room was as dim as it was going to get.  Mickey sat down heavily on the floor, his back pressed up against the bed.  His whole body was shaking now.  He couldn’t stop the images in his head, Terry’s furious face as he’d tried to choke the life out of his youngest son, the sound the bottle had made when it had connected with his head…

“Jesus...jesus…”  he whispered, and he was rocking back and forth, unable to stop the laughter that bubbled out of his chest, the sobs that accompanied it.  Why was he crying?  Fuck Terry; he hoped that bastard was dancing in flames right now.

But he was still his dad.  

And his dad was dead.  He’d watched him die.  He’d had a hand in it.

And there was nothing that was ever going to make this right.  No way to make it OK.  Nothing that could make him deny that right now all he wanted was his father back.  He didn’t want to believe that it had to end like this.  God, he didn’t know what to do now, how to fill this chasm that was sucking him in and swallowing him whole, making him gasp for breath even as tears poured down his face.

“Mickey?”

The quiet tap on the door froze him.  He buried his hand in his hands, trying to muffle the sounds he couldn’t stop making.   The tremors that shook him eased slightly.  

“Mickey. Please.”  He heard Ian’s voice break.  No, he couldn’t open the door.  There was more than that between them now.  But fuck, he didn’t want him to go.  Ian’s voice was like a lifeline, something he could grab onto to keep from falling all the way down.  

“OK, then,”  he heard Ian say after a minute.  “I’m not leaving, Mickey.  No matter what you do.  I’m going to be right here.  Long as it takes.”  There was a shuffling noise and then the door moved slightly.  Mickey could tell that Ian had settled himself on the floor against it.  His large frame blocked the last bit of light that had been creeping under the door and Mickey sucked his breath as it was extinguished.

Back in the dark.

Safe at last.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback always appreciated.


	10. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey try to figure out where to go from here.

It was the squeak of the bedroom door opening that awakened Mickey.

He felt dull, leaden, and he didn’t have the energy or motivation to actually open his eyes, but he was awake, enough to register the soft click as the door was shut again behind whoever had entered.  He could tell they hadn’t left; he could hear slightly hitched breathing and feel a watchful presence at his back as he lay facing the window.

He wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t jumping out of bed and demanding an explanation.  Hell, he wasn’t even sure why he was in bed.  Last thing he remembered was the tranquilizer he’d taken earlier unleashing its full power with the subtlety of a baseball bat to the face.  He was pretty sure he’d passed out right there on the floor where he’d been sitting, but he was on the bed now, and he could feel the sheet that had been tucked around him.

Dim memories were floating back slightly, shrouded in a dreamlike consistency...Ian’s light touch on his arms, his coaxing voice, being nearly lifted off the ground…  His heart jolted in his chest almost painfully, helping to wash away the last vestiges of sleep.

Light footsteps were shuffling hesitantly closer.  Mickey remained where he was, staring at the wall.  

The bed creaked and dipped as his silent companion climbed onto the opposite side, and his heart was painfully jolted, only to still into a dull throb as he realized almost immediately that the person next to him was far too small and too light to be Ian.

“Mickey?”  

He tried ignoring her, but Svetlana pressed herself against his back and he was immediately overcome with a highly unwelcome increase in temperature when it was already ball frying hot.  “Get off!”  The words came out as more of a unintelligible grunt than he’d intended, but it didn’t seem like she was inclined to listen anyway. Her whole body was shaking violently against his, so hard it began to rattle the bed.

“You OK?”  He managed to force his eyes open and the dim room surged back into view.

“No,” she whispered.  Her breath hitched and staggered; he could feel it in irregular bursts on the back of his neck.  Abruptly she wrapped her arm around his waist, trapping his arm against his body under it.

“Hey!”  He snapped at her, still feeling too numb to really fight her off.

Svetlana’s shaking only increased in violence.   He could feel her fingers against his chest trembling so rapidly it was like she was speeding typing on a keyboard.  

“Okay, okay…”  he mumbled, and with difficulty, he pried himself out of her octopus-like grip, turning over on the mattress to face her.  Her face was bone white, her eyes huge and dilated as she stared back at him.

“Calm down.  You’re safe now,”  Mickey tried to make his voice as soothing as possible, which was not really a word in his vocabulary, and fuck, since when did anyone expect him to be comforting anyway?

“I killed him,”  her voice was still a stark whisper.  “I killed Terry.”

“Yeah,”  he nodded, now grateful for the artificial numbness the drug he’d taken was giving him.  “You did.”

Her face crumpled at that.  So...verification had apparently been the wrong way to go.  After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, patting clumsily.  “Hey...breathe.  Relax.”

Svetlana just blinked at him, a kind of resigned terror settling onto her features.  Despite it all, there were no tears in her eyes.  He’d never been curious about her past before, but now he found himself suddenly wondering exactly how she’d gotten so broken that she couldn’t even cry.  Oh, the damage that the hands of a father could wreak...

God, it was like looking into a fucking mirror sometimes.

“I could go to prison forever.  Never see my son again.  Die alone in a cell.”   Her tremors increased once more.

“No.  You won’t,” he shook his head.  

She stared at him in silent disbelief.

Mickey exhaled, then he took his hand from her shoulder and touched her face, tilting her chin slightly so they were looking each other in the eyes.  “Listen to me.  You saved my fucking life, doing what you did.  I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

She exhaled shakily.  “Promise?”  He could hear the cynicism mixed with the hope in that one word.

“I promise,”  he kept his eyes fixed on her.  

She actually managed to smile at that, putting her hand over the one he still had on her face and squeezing.  His first instinct was to yank away, but he battled it back, letting her fingers entwine with his.

“We gotta stick together on this, OK?  Keep our heads, get our stories straight, and stick to them.  We’ll be fine if we can do that.  You with me?”

She nodded.  “Yes.  I’m with you,”  her voice was becoming slurred, her eyes unfocused.  Looked like the tranq he’d given her was finally kicking in.

“Good,” he looked over her shoulder at the clock on the bedstand behind her.  It was barely nine - he’d only been asleep for a couple of hours.  

“Get some rest,” he told her now, unnecessarily, as her eyes were already starting to close.  

Unbidden, his eyes started to drop shut as well.  The dark of unconsciousness was beckoning, and gratefully, he slipped into it once more.

* * *

This time, it was the gasp that woke him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed but it was much easier to go from sleeping to waking now, his head clearing quickly as his eyes snapped open to see Ian standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at him and Svetlana.  He held a glass of ice water loosely in his fingers as he stared.

“What the hell?”  he finally managed, his voice rough.  “Is this payback, Mickey?”  His eyes traveled accusingly from Mickey’s face downwards, and Mickey realized bemusedly that he and Svetlana had fallen asleep holding hands.  Their fingers were still wound together, and abruptly, he jerked his fingers from her grip.

The motion woke her up, and she sat up hurriedly.  Her tired eyes moved back and forth between the two of them, registering the storm brewing on Ian’s face.  She jumped up.

“Coffee…”  she mumbled under her breath as she made a hasty exit.  The door clicked shut behind her, and Ian turned back to Mickey, his eyes sparking.

Mickey almost laughed.  Gallagher had some serious gall, trying to act pissed at him.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he snapped as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up.  Like he should really have to point out the obvious:  the mere idea was repellent.  

Ian’s shoulders slumped at that, whether in relief or recognition for the hidden accusation in Mickey’s words he didn’t know.  Nor, he told himself firmly, did he give a shit.

“I brought you some water,”  Ian started to offer him the glass.  When Mickey didn’t take it, he set it down on the bedside table.  

Mickey started to push past him towards the dresser to get some clothes, but Ian used his tall frame to block his path.  Before Mickey could object, he reached for his face, his expression set in determination.

“Stop - “ Mickey tried to shake him off but Ian would not be waylaid.  He gripped the undamaged side of Mickey’s face firmly but carefully, trailing the fingers of his other hand tenderly over the bruises that were surely spectacular by now.  His thumb brushed slowly over Mickey’s split lip.

“Jesus…”  Ian sucked in his breath as his fingers moved down to Mickey’s neck to lightly finger the marks that ringed it.  

“Get the fuck off me, Ian,”  Mickey tried to inject as much force into his tone as possible, considering that he wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop the caress.  Fire was burning through his skin at Ian’s touch, and his whole body was becoming weak as fuck, begging for more.

“If this had happened to me, you wouldn’t let it go,”  Ian looked at him.  “Would you?”  The last couple of words were tinged in uncertainty.

Mickey just looked at him.  Of course he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t about to give Ian any encouragement.

“I just want to help you.  Please - tell me how to help you!”  Ian’s grip tightened on him, and that was it, it was enough.  He shoved Ian against the opposite wall, for a second not sure himself if he wanted to hit him or kiss him.  Or really, he wasn’t that uncertain, because he was already kissing him.

Ian grabbed Mickey’s face in both hands, and he was kissing him back just as frantically.  

The kiss stung bitterly in more ways than one, reopening the cut on Mickey’s lip, and he tasted his own blood as it deepened.  He was dimly aware that a little voice in the back of his head was cautioning him that this was a bad idea, it wasn’t going to change anything, but the screaming need of every cell in his body quickly shanked that doubt into silence and left it alone in a corner to die.

He was pulling Ian’s shirt off now and then yanking impatiently at his jeans, fumbling with the uncooperative buttons until he was able to shove them downwards and there it was,  the Promised Land.  

How was it that every time felt like the first time, like his fingers had never closed around Ian’s hardness before, he’d never heard that gasping groan as he caressed him, never had his heart nearly beat right out of his chest when Ian nearly ripped his boxers off and pushed him onto the bed?  

He didn’t have a chance to reposition himself before the other man was on him, biting the nape of his neck lightly, then pressing the lightest of kisses to his damaged skin.  He heard the scrape of a lid being untwisted on the bedside table and nearly lost it in a disturbingly premature manner when he felt the moist finger against him, easing the way before he was filled to his core.  

He wasn’t even sure what he said, the words hissing out between his clenched teeth, but it must have been flattering because he heard Ian chuckle low in his ear.  Impatiently, he bucked his hips against him and was satisfied with the groan he received in response before he was forced down even further and was being fucked so hard that the whole damn mattress was moving back and forth with them, banging the bedframe lightly into the wall.  

It wasn’t long enough, not nearly long enough, before they were both spasming and shuddering in unison and then Ian collapsed on top of him.  It was too fucking hot and he was way too heavy and Mickey couldn’t have given less of a shit.  If only they could stay this way forever, the rest of the world shut out and nothing more important than the touch of bare skin and the feel of Ian’s heart pounding against his back.

But like anything else that was good and right in the world, it couldn’t last.  Ian pulled away, reaching for some tissues to clean them up, and like a door had been thrown open, everything came surging back in, the rage, the hurt, the mind numbing terror of the last day, the crippling surety that everything in their world right now was truly screwed and not in a good way.

He turned over on his side, facing the wall again like he had earlier.  Ian returned to him, pressing himself against Mickey’s back and draping an arm over him.  Mickey tensed immediately and he knew Ian felt it.

He let him touch him though.  Might as well get it while he could, because they were on a speeding out of control train now, and it was going to fly off the tracks at any second.

“Was last night the first time?”

“What?”  He felt Ian prop himself up on an elbow, looking down at him.

“You and Mandy.  Was last night the first time, or has this been going on for a while?”

Ian fell back into the mattress with a resigned sigh.  “It was the only time, Mickey, I swear.  We didn’t know what the fuck we were doing.  She brought home some acid and I was already drunk.  I barely even remember it - it was like a dream.  I am so sorry - “

“Shut the fuck up,”  The words were said without heat.  There was just too much pain to have any energy for anger.  

The strained silence lingered for far too long.  He could feel Ian steeling himself to speak again.  “Do you want me to leave?”

God.  The thought was just - like someone had asked him if he really need those lungs to breathe, or that heart to beat.  

But the idea of Ian staying too - looking at him every day, seeing him and Mandy together, being faced every single minute with wondering what the fuck he could have done that was so bad that they’d betray him so easily…

“I don’t know.  I just - give me some space,”  He shrugged Ian’s arm off of him, sitting up and reaching for his boxer shorts.

Ian stood up too.  “Mickey, I get it, I do, but how is space what you need right now?  You can’t handle everything on your own!  I don’t know what you and Svetlana got into, but something is seriously fucked up.  I haven’t seen you like this since the wedding - “  he broke off, horrified understanding dawning on his features.  “Jesus.   _Terry_.”

Mickey didn’t even have it in him to deny it.  He just pulled on his clothes.

“Mickey, tell me what happened!  What the fuck did he do to you?  What the hell is going on?”

And just then, there was a loud pouding at the door.  They could hear the shout clearly through the flimsy apartment walls.

“Open up!  Police!”

Mickey looked at Ian’s slack jawed expression.

“Looks like you’re about to find out.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good God, that sex scene was the scariest thing I've ever written. I really don't write them a lot and I've never written a male on male but dammit, Ian and Mandy got a dimly alluded one so there was no way I was going to short change my boys.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I literally JUST finished this and I'm desperately late so I hope it's not ridden with more than my usual typos. 
> 
> Feedback always appreciated!


	11. Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mandy find out the truth; Mickey begins to crack under pressure.

The pounding echoed once again through the apartment, harsh and unwelcoming.  “Police, open up!”  Came the shout again.

They heard a door open and footsteps run down the hallway before the bedroom door burst open.  Mandy was standing there, her eyes enormous.  “Mickey, what the hell - “

“I got this,” he pushed past her as the knocking grew harder and more impatient.  Mandy and Ian were right on his heels.  He didn’t see Svetlana; she was probably hiding in her bedroom.

He allowed himself one single second of unadulterated panic before he pulled open the door.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  He wasn’t ready for this.  Hadn’t even had a chance to go over their cover story with Svetlana, still had a bag of clothes in his closet nicely packed up as evidence to hang his stupid ass.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected that he’d probably spend the majority of his adult life in the big house but he’d thought he might have a few good years first.

Fuck it.  What was done was done.  He pulled open the door.

“Hi, Mickey.”

OK, so Tony the Friendly Neighborhood Cop wasn’t exactly the baton swinging uniformed pig he’d expected would be dragging his sorry ass into the squad car.  How embarrassing; he was going to get cuffed and marched off by Fiona’s former pussy boy in front of the whole neighborhood.

Tony wasn’t alone though; he was accompanied by a taller officer with a thinning scalp and a tired, lined face accented by surprisingly observant eyes.  He looked vaguely familiar.  His eyes were fixed on Mickey for a long moment, then the man looked at Tony.

“Oh, sorry,”  Tony flushed slightly.  “This is my new partner, Officer O’Neill.”

“Good for you,”  Mickey said flatly.  “This is a social call or what?”

Tony took a deep breath.  “Your sister around?  We need to talk to both of you.”

“I’m right here,”  Mandy stepped forward.  “What’s going on, Tony?”

Tony took a deep breath, looking anxious.  “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for the two of you.”

Before he could continue, his partner held up a hand.  “Wait a minute,” he turned back to Mickey.  “What happened to your face, son?”

_Dammit._  Mickey opened his mouth, not exactly sure what he was going to say.

“His big mouth, that’s what,”  The words were spoken in an amused, strongly accented drawl.  Mickey turned around to see Svetlana, leaning against the wall, still tying her silk robe.  She turned her face, deliberately giving both officers a clear view of the vibrant bruise on her cheekbone and her split lip.  “He tells me I spend too much money.  I tell him he spends too much time fucking his boyfriend,” she indicated Ian with a jerk of her chin.  “We got into it.  I won.”  She smirked, and Mickey was beyond amazed at her calm.  What had happened to the terrified woman clinging to him a few hours ago?

Tony hurriedly covered his smile with his hand.  His partner raised an eyebrow, looking back at Mickey.  “You have a boyfriend and wife in the same household?  That’s one interesting setup.”

Svetlana shrugged, once again saving Mickey from speaking.  “We are...what do you call it?  Modern people.”  She shot her sexiest grin at the officer, but it seemed to have a far greater effect on Tony, who was eyeing her exposed cleavage with gusto.  Mickey gave him a hard glare and he had the grace to flush and look away.

“Well, just cool it with the arguments, okay?  I don’t want to have to pick either of you up on a domestic,”  Tony was trying for an authoritative tone and as usual, failing utterly.  It was like being scolded by an overeager Golden Retriever.  How the fuck did he not get his ass kicked every single day?

“No worry, we are all made up now,”  Svetlana put her hands on Mickey’s shoulders and leaned against him.  

“You said you had news for us?”  Mandy broke in impatiently.

“Yeah,”  Tony’s face grew serious.  “I’m...really sorry to have to tell you guys this, but your father was found in a lot over on 5th a few hours ago.  I’m afraid he’s - deceased.”

Even though he knew to expect the words, they were still like a low blow gut punch.  As long as it had only been Svetlana and him that knew, it was almost as if the universe could still reverse it, make it not be true.

Now it was real.  It wasn’t going away.

Mandy was gasping for breath, her eyes filling.  “He’s...dead?”  

“I’m sorry,”  Tony reached out to pat Mandy’s arm as she began to sob, seemed to think better of it halfway there, and withdrew his hand.  

“How?”  Mickey managed.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ian’s stunned, all too knowing glance in his direction.

“The detective in charge will have more information for you, but at this point it does appear to be a homicide,”  Officer O’Neill took over.  “He was found in an area known for drug dealing, and given his propensities, it could have been a deal gone bad.”

Mandy was crying too hard to speak, but Mickey was not oblivious to the accusing look she shot him.  The resulting guilt coiled acidly in his stomach.

“I’m afraid that’s not the only bad news we have for you,”  Officer O’Neill’s voice was gentle as he looked at Mandy’s tear streaked face.  “Igor Milkovich is your half brother?”

Mickey felt his heart jump into his throat.  “Why?”  He burst out.  All he could hear now was his father’s mocking words about how he’d punished Iggy for not selling Mickey and Mandy out.  

“He’s at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.  Apparently, your father attacked him.  We’d actually been looking to bring him back in on assault charges when his body was found.”

“Is Iggy going to be OK?”  Mickey demanded as Mandy gasped and turned so white she looked like she was going to pass out. Instantaneous fury was immediately dissolving his former guilt.  Goddamn Terry for the piece of shit psychopath he had been.  

“He’s in bad shape,”  Tony’s face was wreathed in sympathy.  “Broken jaw, fractured ribs, among other injuries. He won’t be getting out of the hospital for quite a while.”

“This seems to have been a pattern with your father, it appears,”  Officer O’Neill was looking at Mickey again.  “Celebrating a release from jail by trying to beat one of his kids to death.”

At those words, the memories clicked and Mickey knew where he’d seen Officer O’Neill before.  He was the cop who’d let him go that night at the Alibi, the one with the husband.   

“Did you know your father was out of jail?”  Officer O’Neill asked suddenly, and Mickey didn’t like the way those too observant eyes were studying him.

“No,” he muttered.  “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

“Hmmm,” the older man didn’t seem entirely convinced.  “Well, Detective Simmons has been assigned to the case and I’m sure he’ll need statements from you and your sister at some point, so you might want to plan on making a trip to the station sooner rather than later.”  His gaze drifted to Svetlana and Ian.  “May need to talk to you two as well, so it would be helpful if you keep yourselves available.”  It wasn’t exactly a ‘don’t leave town’ order for the four of them, but it was close enough, and Mickey felt a trickle of sweat roll down his back that had nothing to do with the heat.

Tony handed Mickey and Mandy each a small card with the detective’s number on it and a scrawled case number, then amid more apologies he and his partner departed.

Mickey had no time to be relieved that he wasn’t accompanying them - almost as soon as the door closed Mandy launched herself at him.

“You killed him!”  Thankfully her words were mostly garbled sobs; even if the officers had stayed outside the door they probably wouldn’t have been able to understand her.  

Mickey couldn’t even bring himself to  raise his hands to defend himself.  He just stood there as Mandy swung wildly, ranting incomprehensibly.  Ian jumped forward, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back.  At the same time, Svetlana jumped between Mandy and Mickey, turning to face her sister in law with flashing eyes. 

“Not him,” her words were deliberate.  “ _Me_.”

Both Ian and Mandy gaped at her, open-mouthed, before Mandy’s features darkened furiously and she lunged at Svetlana this time, tearing herself from Ian’s slack grip.  “Fucking murderer!”

“Don’t touch her!”  Now Mickey did move, blocking his sister before she reached his wife and pushing her back.  “He had a gun to my fucking head!  He would have killed me if it wasn’t for her!”

“God, Mickey…!”  Ian nearly choked out the words, so pale that each freckle stood out in vivid color.  His eyes were locked on Mickey even as he grabbed Mandy once more.  It wasn’t really necessary; all the fight had gone out of her at Mickey’s last words.  She stood mute, hands dropped at her sides, eyes wide, looking sickened.

“Maybe she should have let him, right?  Is that what you would have wanted, Mandy?”  Even as the words spilled out, Mickey knew he shouldn’t be saying them, but he couldn’t stop, everything he’d been stuffing for the last several hours boiling over at last.  “With me out of the way, you’d have Ian all to yourself.  Would that have been better?”

Mandy’s face was aghast.  “How can you even say that to me, Mickey?”

“How could you do what you did to me?!”  Mickey couldn’t stop, even as he knew this had to qualify as the worst timing ever.  “You wanted to hurt me, right?  Well, congratulations, you succeeded.  Why stop at fucking Ian, huh? In fact, why don’t you run down to the police station and turn us in? When I’m doing life, will that be enough to make you feel better about whatever the fuck it is that you’ve been holding against me?”

“I would never - “ Mandy’s voice was a breathless protest, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

“ _‘You would never…’_ “ Mickey mocked her words.  “There’s a lot of things I never thought you’d do.”

Mandy flinched as if he’d punched her, and with a strangled sob, she yanked open the front door and disappeared.  They heard her footsteps pound down the hallway and another distant slam.  Ian took a step towards the open door, then looked back, his expression torn.  He started to turn towards Mickey.

“Go on, go after her,” Mickey snapped.  “She needs you.  I don't.”

Not waiting for Ian’s response he pushed past Svetlana and went back to his bedroom, banging the door shut behind him.  A minute later he heard the front door slam and the corresponding pain made him catch his breath.

He couldn't think about it now though, because if he did he was going to break so hard he knew he’d never be able to put himself back together.  There were other people depending on him now.

Pulling out his cell phone he dialed information and a few minutes later he was on the line with the hospital.

* * *

Two days.

It had been two days since Terry’s body was found and while a shitload of events had happened since, the one thing Mickey’d been expecting had not.  He had not been arrested.  He had not even been threatened with being arrested, despite the fact that he’d spent quite a bit of time nose to nose with more cops than he’d been even in his juvie days.

He still couldn’t think about his blindingly dumb luck without a sense of amazed disbelief.

Because someone had been arrested for Terry’s murder.  Two someones, in fact.

The two junkies that had robbed Terry’s body were the most incredibly stupid shits to ever twitch their way around the neighborhood.  Not only had they helpfully left fingerprints on Terry’s corpse, not to mention the murder weapon, but they’d been picked up with his wallet, ATM cards, and his gun still on them.  And if that hadn’t been moronic enough to leave any self respecting South Side thug hanging their head in shame, the two half wits had been bragging all over town that they’d taken out Terry Milkovich to anyone who’d sit still long enough to listen.

From what the police had told Mickey, the two had changed their tune fast enough when they were hauled into a police interrogation room, but no one was buying the story that they’d simply stumbled upon Terry’s body.  They were an easy solution to a case that no one really cared about.  Life long South Side criminal meets his deserving end in a trash strewn field and two petty criminals who’d already been merrily prancing down the road to their own full time incarceration had been popped for it.  Case closed.

It was almost enough to force Mickey to admit that there could actually be a God.  One that may even have a soft spot towards a certain fucked for life Milkovich.

Then again, maybe this God just had a really sadistic sense of humor, and liked to drag things out, letting him think he was off the hook before reeling him into the gallows.

Mickey rubbed his fingers across his lips as he sat at the kitchen table, an untouched plate of toast rapidly going stale in front of him.  

The newspaper was spread out before him.  Terry’s death had rapidly been relegated to back page news.  For the 17th time, Mickey read the paragraph that had been giving him cold chills all morning.

_ Police did confirm that despite 'an obvious attempt to destroy it,' DNA evidence was recovered from the scene.  Prosecutors seem confident that this evidence will be the final piece that makes their case against Gaines and Stroger, even as the accused mens’ defense teams insists it will clear their clients.  Which side is correct remains to be seen as DNA evidence can take months to process.   _

Mickey sat the paper back down with a near silent groan.  He hadn’t told anyone about this, not Svetlana, nor Mandy, and especially not Ian.  Nor had he told anyone that he’d gotten a call this morning from Detective Simmons, requesting him to come back to the police station and submit a DNA sample to ‘eliminate’ him from the suspect pool.

What was the point of telling them?  There was nothing they could do.  No one could take this burden from him.  His DNA would be a match and he’d be upriver without a paddle and there was not a fucking thing anyone could do about it.  The only thing that Mickey could control was not letting Svetlana drown with him.  Geno needed at least one parent and it didn’t take a brainiac to figure out which one he needed more.

Mickey’s increasingly grim thoughts were interrupted by a wet splat.  He looked to see a glop of foul smelling green mush landed right in the center of the newspaper.  Mickey looked up to see Geno, who was sitting in his high chair next to the table, shaking his baby spoon and chortling happily as food flew everywhere.

Mickey looked back at the now unreadable paper with a half smile, half grimace.  “My thoughts exactly, kid.”

He balled it up then stood up and walked over to the baby.  Geno stared up at him, giggling.  After a moment’s hesitation, Mickey plucked the spoon out of Geno’s tiny fingers.  “Lets try actually eating some of this shit, huh?”  

Gingerly, he scooped up some of the gunk remaining in the plastic bowl and aimed for Geno’s mouth, wondering once again what the fuck he’d been thinking when he’d volunteered to feed the kid.  Of course, it had been worth it just to see the stunned look at Svetlana’s face.  She’d actually been shocked into silence for a few minutes when Mickey had plucked Geno from her arms and carried him away.  He had just figured if most of his relationship with Geno was going to be once a month on visitor’s day in the big house, he might as well get in some quality time while he could.

“Need some help there?”  Ian had wandered into the kitchen just in time to see Mickey duck the mouthful of mush that Geno was spitting back at him.

“No.  I got this,”  The rejection came out harsher than Mickey had intended, and he watched the hope quickly flicker and die on Ian’s face.  Stepping firmly on the resulting guilt the way he’d mash a cockroach on the sole of his shoe, he looked away.

“You really don’t need me any more, do you, Mickey?”

The words were barely more than a whisper.  Mickey turned back, but Ian was already leaving the kitchen and disappearing down the hallway.

“Ian, wait…”  

The redhead didn’t hear him, and Mickey didn’t try again.  What would he say anyway? He had barely spoken to Ian or Mandy the last couple of days.  The strained atmosphere around the apartment was nearly unbearable, and he was almost grateful for the constant distractions that kept him busy, like visiting Iggy in the hospital.  It hadn’t been much of a visit; his brother couldn’t exactly make conversation with his jaw wired shut but he’d touched Mickey’s hand and his eyes had shown his gratitude that Mickey was there.  That had made Mickey feel both better and worse.  He didn’t know why Iggy didn’t seem to hate him for being directly responsible for landing him in that bed, but he’d take what he could get.  

“Hey.  You let him make a mess.”

Svetlana had entered the kitchen now, immediately heading over to the high chair to look over her food spattered son with a sigh before going over to the sink and soaking a washcloth to start cleaning up.

“Carrot Boy is upset,”  she said as she ran the water.

“Who gives a shit?”  The words were automatic, even as the knife in Mickey’s gut twisted once more.

“You do,” she said, unmoved by his scowl as she started to wash Geno’s face and hands.  “How long you going to let this go on for?”

“Me?”  He glared at her.  “How is this my responsibility?  I’m not the one who decided to trip out Grateful Dead style and fuck someone else, am I?”

Svetlana shrugged.  “You’ve done other things,”  she turned back towards him, her expression softening.  “You are unhappy.  I just want to help.  Make things right between you two.”

“Well, you can’t,” he snapped.  “I just - “  God.  He didn’t even know what the fuck he wanted and he couldn’t tell Svetlana any way.  Even if she was the person he could talk to the most these days, and if that wasn’t a twist he’d never seen coming he didn’t know what was.  But Mickey couldn’t tell her that there was probably no point to even trying to work things out with Ian now.  What could he offer him?  Fifty years of talking on a phone with a partition in between them, touching hands through the plexiglass?  No fucking way.  Better to let it die out now, a natural death, let Ian move on.

“You just what?”  He hadn’t noticed that Svetlana was still waiting on him to finish his sentence; he’d been too caught up in the beyond agonizing thought of how it would feel if Ian really did give up.

“I need space.  I need time to figure things out,”  He didn’t realize how true the words were until he said them.  If only life could stop happening for just a few days, stop raining its never ending stream of shit on his head, give him time to breathe and think and figure out where the hell to go from here.

Svetlana gave him a long look, looking as though she wanted to say something else.  He was beyond grateful when she remained silent, turning to pick Geno up.  

Before she exited, she paused next to his chair, then leaned down, pressing her lips to his cheek.  “Figure it out,” she murmured in his ear.  “He will not wait forever.” Leaving Mickey with this undeniable fact, she swept away.

No.  No, he wouldn’t.

Forever was a long time to wait, indeed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. My poor boys...
> 
> I know Mickey's been hogging the narrative lately, but in the next chapter, we get to hear from both Mandy and Ian and see some of the other Gallaghers at last. I'm going to try to grind it out before I leave on vacation tomorrow night - wish me luck!
> 
> Thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated!


	12. Ghost of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the result of a near all nighter I pulled just for y'all, since I'm going on vacation today and won't be back until about the 25th. I'm dedicating it to all you lovely people who have taken time to kudos or comment. You all have made me believe it's worth writing again. Thank you so very much.

“I don’t know, V,” Fiona looked down at the other woman from her perch on the ladder.  “Don’t you think they’re a little... _festive_ for the occasion?”

The two of them were standing inside the barroom at the Alibi, hanging gaily colored streams and balloons from every post and light fixture they could reach. It was late morning, normally a time when the regular barflies would begun to line up at the bar, while hung over, raccoon eyeliner wearing Russian women would be sidling through the crowd, looking for takers to usher upstairs.  Today, however, a ‘Closed For Private Party’ sign hung on the door and every chair and barstool was empty.  The tables had been pushed away from the center of the room, which was now gated off with a series of colorful, interlocking plastic walls now enclosing the adorable twin baby girls who were playing in the middle of it.

“Please, like anyone is going to pretend Terry Milkovich’s death is anything besides a reason to celebrate,”  Kev came backing through the door, balancing several cases of liquor in his arms.

“Yeah, but it’s still supposed to be a memorial, right?”  Fiona climbed down off the ladder and surveyed her handiwork critically, head cocked.

“Wake,”  V corrected.  “One we wouldn’t be even bothering with if Mickey wasn’t Kev’s business partner.  It’s the least we can do for him and Mandy.”  She stood next to Fiona.  “I think it looks good,”  she eyed the clock on the wall.  “We still have a few hours anyway.  We’ll get Carl to jack some flowers from the front of the florist’s on 3rd right before everyone’s supposed to arrive.  That’ll formal it up a little.”

“Sure,” As V went to check on the girls, Fiona wandered over to the bar and began to help Kev unpack the boxes of liquor.  There was companionable silence for a moment, only broken by the happy babbling and occasional shrieks that Amy and Gemma were making.

“OK, that’s it.  I can’t stand it anymore,”  V came over to the bar as well, walking behind it to start pulling racks of glasses out of the lower cabinets.  “We gonna talk about the big felonious elephant in the room or what?”

Kev and Fiona looked up at her in surprise and V arched an eyebrow.  “Oh, come on.  Does anyone here think it was a coincidence that Mickey and Svetlana both showed up with faces full of hurt right around the same time that Milkovich Senior got his ticket punched?”

Fiona swallowed hard as V gave voice to the thoughts that had been swirling around in her head for days.  “But they caught the guys that did it,” she protested weakly, knowing her tone gave away that she didn't believe that any more than they did.  

“Sure, they did,” Kev rolled his eyes as he finished stacking the last of the boxes.  “Pair of mooks in the wrong place at the wrong time if you ask me,” he added and V nodded her agreement.

“Shit,”  Fiona set down the rag she’d just picked up to help V wipe down the glasses.  “What about Ian? Do you think he was involved?

“He's not the one with the bruises,” V leaned forward and gave Fiona’s hand a  reassuring squeeze.  

“Bet he knows all about it though,” Kev interjected and V shot him a dirty look.  “Oh, we were trying for denial here? Sorry, didn't mean to rain all that duh down on your parade.”

Fiona sighed deeply, leaning her elbows on the bar.  “I don’t even know how to process this.  It’s the last kind of shit I wanted Ian twisted up in.  What should we do?”

They were all silent for a minute then V smiled broadly.  “I know!  Imma make them a cake.  You know, for tonight.”

Fiona stared at her.  “A _‘Congratulations On Killing Your Dad And Not Getting Caught’_ cake?”

 “Yeah!”  V beamed. “Can you think of a better occasion?”

“Don’t actually write that on there, though,”  Kev added hastily

“I’m glad you two are taking this so well!”  Exasperated, Fiona put her hands on her hips.  “What about my brother?  What about the two innocent people that are going to jail?”

Kev and V exchanged astonished looks. “Fiona, haven’t you been reading the paper?”  V continued.  “ Innocent, my left titty.  They both have rap sheets a mile long.  One of them is a registered sex offender!  I say throw away the key and let them rot.”

“Come on, Fiona,”  Kev’s face became serious.  “Whatever went down, Mickey and Svetlana did what they had to do.  You ought to know MIckey well enough to know that by now.”

“Yeah,”  Fiona dropped her hands.  “I do know.  I just wish so many different things.  I wish Ian wasn’t a part of this.  Fuck.  I wish _Mickey_ wasn’t a part of this. Haven’t they been through enough?  I wish I knew how to help.”

“Best thing to do if you want to help is forget this conversation ever happened,”  Kev looked at Fiona’s worried expression.  “Hey, Fi, I know it’s hard to believe, but this time, luck’s on the right side.  Just let it play out the way it was meant to.”

“Yeah,”  Fiona flipped her hair away from her face and exhaled before she finally managed a smile. “What would I do without my morally ambiguous friends to guide me?”

“Go to church.  Do your taxes,”  V thought for a moment.  “Marry some whitebread surburban schmuck with a tiny dick and have nothing but missionary position sex for the rest of your life.  Join the PTA and get hooked on Vicodin by the time you’re forty just so you can forget how much you want to shank everyone around you with a butter knife.  That kind of stuff.”

“Fuck that; thank God you’re here!”  Laughing, Fiona threw her arms around V’s neck.  “Come on, I’ll help you with the cake.  Hey, which flavor says patricide better...vanilla or chocolate?”

* * *

Three hours later, the Alibi was packed.  Fiona was pretty sure at least half of the people there hadn’t been invited; she’d definitely seen some of the Alibi’s usual suspects sneaking in among friends and family and stealthily sidling up to the bar to get their tipple on.  Even now she saw one man she’d never seen before in her life, and she was certain all the Milkoviches could say the same, raise his glass high in the air.  “To Larry!  May you rest in peace!”   

“To Larry!”  There was a chorus of agreement.  Yep.  People were definitely here for the free booze.

Her own father was by far not the least of these.  Frank was holding court at the end of the bar, an uncomfortable looking Sheila by his side.  “That’s right!”  he yelled, a good minute after everyone else had already set their glasses down.  “To Lar - I mean, Terry!  May his feet dance on hot coals and his backside be prodded by angry imps for all of eternity!”  He tossed back his drink as the crowd around him fell awkwardly silent at that, sipping their beers and throwing cautious glances at the older two Milkovich brothers. Colin and Joey were seated at the table in the middle of the room, scowling and looking generally unpleasant, as per the Milkovich family credo.

“What?”  Frank looked around at his now quiet court.  “You were all thinking it!”  

Fiona covered her snort of laughter with her hand as she made her way to where V and Kev were sitting.  “Hey,” she said as she sat down next to them.  “What are you two looking at?”  

Both Kev and V had been staring fixedly across the bar, but at her words they looked back at her.  “Your brother and his highly entertaining daytime drama of a life, that’s what,”  V indicated Ian, who was seated several tables away, with a jerk of her chin.   “I don’t even know why I bother to record Days of Our Lives anymore.  I’m just going to go over to his place between 2 and 3 o’clock on weekdays from now on.”  

“What do you - _oh_.”  Fiona followed V’s gaze.  Ian was at a corner table, alone, his face woebegone and a half empty beer in front of him.  Mickey and Svetlana were at the next table.  Mickey’s back was to her brother, and he seemed completely oblivious to Ian’s sad faced watchfulness.  And was it her imagination, or did Mr. and Mrs. Milkovich, who couldn’t stand each other last she checked, look awfully cozy all the sudden?  

Even as she watched, Svetlana put her hand over Mickey’s as it rested on the table and squeezed.  Instead of jerking it away, he looked directly at her and gave her a faint smile.

“What. The. Fuck.”  Kev mouthed the words.

“So say we all!  And what the hell is going on with Mandy?”  V indicated the dark haired girl.  Mandy was sitting in between her two older brothers at the center table.  Her shoulders were slumped and she looked paler than ever.  Fiona could see the dark shadows under her eyes even from this distance.

“Well, her father did just die…”  Fiona’s voice trailed off.

“Yeah, that doesn’t explain why I haven’t seen her exchange one word with either Mickey or Ian all night.  Something’s going on with those four and it’s a hot mess.”  V nudged Fiona’s shoulder hard.  “Go find out!  I need some juicy gossip to occupy my mind when I’m rocking crying babies at 3am.”

Even as she spoke, they watched Ian suddenly stand up, setting his now empty glass down.  He threw a couple of dollars on the table and with one more lingering glance at Mickey, who still didn’t look at him, he wound his way through the tables, heading towards the hallway that led towards the bathrooms and the back exit.

Fiona caught up with him halfway down the hall.  “Ian, wait!”

Ian turned towards her, and she didn’t like the look on his face at all.  Like Mandy, he was too pale, with circles under his eyes.  But far worse was the stark expression in those eyes, an absence of hope that reminded her far too much of those weeks when he’d been at his worst.

“Hey, what’s going on?”  She was far too concerned to bother easing into it.

Ian swallowed.  For a moment, she was certain he was going to brush off her concern as he’d done so many times before, but in a few seconds, his eyes filled with tears.

“Fiona, can I come back home for a while?”

“Yeah, of course!”  She was truly scared now.  If things were bad enough that Ian would even consider leaving Mickey, then they were tiptoeing on catastrophic territory as far as her brother was concerned.  She put her hands on either side of his face.  “Tell me what’s going on, please.  What happened between you and Mickey?”

Ian just shook his head and she could tell he was barely holding it together.  “I can’t talk about it right now,”  his voice was shaking and it tore at her heart.  “I just need to get out of here.  I want to get some clothes and shit before - “  he broke off, looking back at the tables towards Mickey.

“Before Mickey gets home,”  Fiona finished for him.  She took a deep breath.  “OK.  Get your stuff.  But I expect to see you home in an hour and then we will talk, right?”   

“Sure,”  Ian actually managed a small smile.  “I’ll be there, Fiona.  I promise,”  Gently, he pushed her hands off his face.  “See you soon.”

“OK,’ Fiona whispered after him as he moved down the hallway.  “Soon.”  Reluctantly, she turned and went back to join the party.

* * *

“Geno won’t be able to sleep at night without you.”

Ian spun around at the sound of Svetlana’s voice.  She was leaning against the wall, apparently having just emerged from the bathroom..

“You heard,” he said flatly.

She nodded.  “You are really going?”

Hearing the words framed out loud pierced him sharply but he nodded slowly.  “It’s for the best.  I’m not - “  Ian broke off.  He didn’t want to say it, because saying it made it real.  Saying that he wasn’t doing well, that he could feel every particle of the downward spiral that was threatening to pull him in, made him feel so fucking weak.

So be it.  He was weak then.  He thought he could handle it, the near crushing guilt over what he’d done, the way he’d betrayed Mickey and taken his sister away from him at the same time.  And he’d tried to handle the revelation about Terry’s latest rampage too, weathering the nightmarish images of Mickey at his mercy once again, the way he’d been that day that still burned like sandpaper against bare flesh to remember.

Yeah, Ian could do those things and more.  He could handle the nightmares, stay on his meds, help take care of Geno, be understanding about his boyfriend’s wife, even help carry the secret truth about a man’s death.  He could handle Mickey too, handle his pain, his rage, the way he lashed out when he was hurt, like a wild animal, all slashing claws and ripping teeth, frantically searching for a way to escape the pain and fear.

What he couldn’t handle was MIckey’s fucking indifference.  It was killing him a million different ways every second, to look into the eyes of the person he’d walk through fire for and seeing nothing except his own transparent reflection, a ghost drifting and insignificant.

Every time Ian reached out, every time he was met with nothing at all in return, he felt himself fray around the edges a little bit more.  And he knew where it will lead when that final thread got pulled.  He had to leave now, before that happened and he fell so far into the deep that he might not be able to climb out again.

“Well, I’d better get going - “ At a loss of what else to say, Ian started to move past Svetlana.

“I used to hate you, you know,”  Svetlana’s words stopped him in his tracks and he turned back to face her.  She took a deep breath.  “When i married Mickey, I didn’t fool myself that it was true love.  But he was my husband.  I let myself believe he’d take care of me and Geno.  Of course, that was just fairytales.  He couldn’t stand to even look at me.  And how could I blame him for that?  I told myself so many lies just to be able to get up in the morning, that one day he’d forgive me, that for the first time ever, I’d have real family.  Then I saw there was one person in the way of that, and I hated you so much.  I would have killed you in your sleep if I could have,”  she smiled faintly.

Ian sagged into the wall next to her, wondering why she was telling him this.  It wasn’t anything he hadn’t already known. “I felt the same way about you,” he told her, feeling in his pockets for his cigarettes before he remembered for the thousandth time that he’d quit.  “You were the one person who made me and him impossible, made me realize he wasn’t ever going to be with me for real.  I wanted you to disappear.  I used to dream about it.”

Lacking cigarettes, he did find an old breath mint lining his pocket and blew the lint off of it before he popped it into his mouth.  “That was before though,”  he looked at her.  “Back when I couldn’t even function, you were always around.  I remember all those dumb stories you used to tell me about your clients, and how you’d talk in Russian and how you’d stay up all night with me just like you did with Geno.  I don’t know why, if it was just to get in good with Mickey, keep your friends close and enemies closer, whatever.  I don’t give a shit what your reasons were, because you were there, and it made a difference, whether you know it or not. Thank you for that.”

Svetlana blinked, and he was startled to see the emotion in her eyes.  “You’re right, it wasn’t for you, not at first.  But see, you weren’t the only one who needed a friend,” she exhaled shakily.  “Do you know what it was for me to live in that house?  Stuck here, in this strange country, with a baby no one wanted?  Coming here to the Alibi every day to sell myself to men who could decide to beat me to death instead of paying and no one would have noticed or cared.  Sleeping next to a man that would have been delighted if I never came home again.  I had no one.  Not until you.”  

“I’m still your friend, Svetlana,”  Ian touched her hand.  “Don’t really need me any more though.  You’ve got Mickey now.”

Svetlana smiled.  “Maybe.  Not the way you have him,” she laughed at Ian’s expression.  “I would not want him like that any way.  Too much - how do you say it?  Baggage?  You can have it all.  I am happy with my little piece,”  she sobered.  “You do still want him, yes?”

Ian just looked at her.  Of all the obvious questions…

“Good,” she stepped closer to him.  “So you go.  You both take time to breathe.  Figure it out.  Because if you can’t, you do not deserve him.  And I promise you, even if you are my friend - you ever hurt him again, and I will cut off your joystick.  And I think you know now what I am capable of.”

With a truly terrifying grin, she turned and walked down the hallway.  “Yeah,”  Ian muttered to her disappearing back.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”  He watched as she rejoined Mickey at their table, and pain burned like fire all over again, but this time, it was threaded with resolution.

With one final glance, he turned and walked away.

For now.

* * *

Mandy idly swirled the amber liquid around in her glass, trying desperately hard to shut out the babble of the crowd all around her.  She’d shown up deliberately late for this little Gallagher hosted shindig in the hopes that it would have been in the throes of winding down and she could escape quickly.  But no, she should have known better.  No one seemed to have any inclination to put an end to this farce of a memorial any time soon.

Looking up, she found herself caught in a crossfire of Gallagher optical headlights.  In one direction, she saw Fiona, V, and Kev, their heads turned towards her as they spoke quietly to each other.  She glared at them fiercely until they looked away, only to catch a glimpse of Lip’s head turning towards her.  He was sitting in a corner booth with his sorority bitch, his arm around her waist.  She had her arm around his neck in return, practically sitting in his lap, and it looked like she was talking a mile a minute.  

Lip didn’t appear to be listening.  His eyes were locked on to Mandy, and he didn’t look away even when she gave him her most blistering look in return.

“Fucking faggot,”  Joey muttered to her left, catching her attention.  He was looking over at Mickey’s table.  “Look at him, fucking sitting there with that Commie whore like he don’t got a care in the world.  Dad’s dead and he don’t even give a shit.”

“Piece of shit limp wristed fairy boy is what he is,”  Colin agreed loudly, draining his fourth beer of the evening.  “Won’t even help us pay for a coffin.  Told me I should let them fry him and piss the ashes down the toilet.  He got less family loyalty then a fucking dog.  How can you stand to live with that sadass boy fucker, Mandy?’

Mandy rolled her eyes, pointedly ignoring him.  This was fucking pathetic, the game her two oldest brothers were trying to play.  She knew Mickey heard their deliberately loud attempts to set him off; she saw it in the rigid set of his shoulder, the way the muscles jumped in his cheek every few minutes. He knew what Colin and Joey wanted as well as she did. It was a routine they’d learned at their father’s knee.  They wanted Mickey - no, they _needed_ him.  Without their father, they were on a wind tossed boat with no captain.  So they were trying desperately to provoke their Alpha dog until he beat them into their proper place, in line behind him, taking orders and breaking heads at his behest.  It was all Colin and Joey knew.

But Terry was dead now, and Mickey wasn’t playing his game any more.  She wished she could tell him that she was proud of him for not giving in.  He’d never be like Terry, even if Colin and Joey couldn’t figure that out.  

She didn’t want to play Terry’s game any more either.  Once upon a time, she could have told Mickey that.  But that was before she’d burned everything between them to the ground.

Fuck this; she’d had enough for one night.  She stood up, ignoring Joey and Colin’s immediate protests, and started to make her way to the door.

“Mandy!”  A brilliant flash of red caught her eye and she turned to see Debbie Gallagher standing with a group of scruffy looking teen boys.  The tallest one had his arm around Debbie.

Debbie detached herself from his grasp and threw her arms around Mandy.  “I haven't seen you in so long!” She stepped back, smile fading.  “I'm so sorry about your dad.”

“Thanks,”  Mandy shoved her hands into her pockets.  “Who's this?”

Debbie beamed, moving back towards the boy.  “This is Toby, my boyfriend.”  Her eyes sparkled happily.

“What happened to Matty?” Mandy asked, giving Toby a cynical once over. She didn't like the way he stared back, eyeing her body from head to toe and deliberately licking his lips.

Debbie didn’t seem to notice.  “Please.  I'm so over him.”  Debbie scoffed.  “Toby's the one I've been waiting for.”  She leaned back towards Mandy, lowering her voice. “Plus, he’s 17!  It’s totally legal!”  She grinned.

“Wow,” Mandy said automatically.  “Congratulations.”  

Debbie didn't seem to register her lack of enthusiasm.  “I took your advice when it comes to boys,” she whispered as Toby conversed with his friends.  “Even sent him some sexy selfies, real ones this time!”

“Great,” Mandy smiled weakly.  “Good for you.”  Jesus fucking Christ.  What kind of monster had she helped to create?

“Hey Debbie, we gotta blow,” Toby tapped Debbie on the shoulder and then made a big show of kissing her deeply and wetly while his friends hooted and cat called around them.

Across the bar, Mandy saw Fiona scowling deeply as she watched the boy manhandle her sister, and Mandy could only imagine the epic arguments they’d had about him.  It felt beyond weird.  Looks like for once they were on the same page. _Don't worry, Fiona,_ Mandy thought to herself.   _I got this_.  

Debbie waved an enthusiastic goodbye as Toby and his friends exited.  “I gotta go too,” Mandy told her and Debbie’s face fell.

“Aw!  Ok but we have to hang out soon,” she smiled brightly.  “I need more advice.  About _sex_ ,” she whispered the last, smiling conspiratorily.

Mandy felt her stomach sink like a 3rd class passenger on the Titanic, but she forced herself to smile anyway.  “Sure.  Anytime.”  One last hug, and she was out the door.

Toby and his friends hadn't gone far and it was easy to catch up, falling into step behind them unnoticed.

He was talking loudly to his enraptured court, and every word drifted back to her clearly. “So I haven't tapped that yet, because she wants it to be _special_ ,“ he drew out the last word mockingly.  “But it'll be soon.  She's so fucking in love with me she'll let me do anything I want with her.  Man, I love virgins!”

“You get all the chicks, dickhead.”  One of his friends complained.

“Yeah, but don't I always pass them off to you when I'm done?”  She could see his far too pleased with himself expression clearly even in the gathering gloom of dusk. “Don't worry, you'll get a taste of Little Debbie’s snack cake when I'm through.”

Mandy had heard enough.  She cleared her throat loudly. “Nice way to talk about your girlfriend, asshole.”

The four boys turned to her, and Toby’s eyes widened in recognition.  A second later his smirk returned, wider than ever.  “Aw don't worry, sweet thang, I got plenty left for you right here!”  He grabbed his dick, thrusting his crotch towards her.

Two of his friends roared with laughter at that, but the smallest one, a far younger kid with a creamy-cocoa complexion and startling green eyes, was eyeing her worriedly.  “Um, I wouldn’t talk to her like that if I were you,” he stage whispered.  “That's Mandy!”

“So?” Toby snorted derisively.

“ _Milkovich_ ,”  The kid laced her surname with dire significance.  Mandy was pleased to see the smiles immediately drop off the other boys faces.

 “Just for that you can go, short stuff,” Mandy nodded to the kid.  He needed no further urging, immediately bolting away.  

Mandy turned back to the far less smug gathering.  Hot damn if this craptastic night hadn’t just taken a screeching turn for the better.  Nothing cheered up a Milkovich like fucking up a stupid piece of shit who desperately needed it.  She withdrew the collapsible baton she always carried, unfolding it with a snap.  “The rest of you need a little re-education.  Then we’re going to talk about Debbie Gallagher.  Specifically, how you are going to stay far the fuck away from her.”

She nearly laughed as they tried to rush her, and then there were only the sound of blows landing and grunts of pain.

Music to her ears.

* * *

Dark had well and truly fallen by the time Mandy got home.  It hadn’t taken her that long to deal with Toby and his dumbass friends. She had a couple of minor bruises from where they’d tried to jump her, but the only significant pain she felt was the muscles cramping in her hands from squeezing the baton too tightly.  Their attempts at self defense had been laughable at best.  She’d only had to hit Toby’s friends a couple of times before they abandoned him, and she’d saved the majority of her punishment for him.

She may taken it just a little too far, hit harder than she had intended, let it go on for too long.  It wasn’t until he was begging for mercy that she’d finally let up.  Well, it was his own fucking fault and she refused to feel bad about it.  At least she knew Debbie was safe from him now.

She was surprised to see the kitchen light on and Mickey sitting at their tiny card table.  Hmm; it was later than she thought if he was already home. He was flanked by Svetlana, who was leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder.  She was murmuring something too quietly for Mandy to understand.

“Hey,”  Mandy felt a sudden chill race up her spine as she caught sight of Mickey’s red rimmed eyes before he quickly glanced away.  “What’s wrong?”

Svetlana looked up.  “Ian is gone,” she said quietly.

The words were like a silent but deadly knife jab between the ribs.  Mandy stumbled away from them, towards the little alcove that she called her room, shoving her way through the rattling beaded curtain and climbing onto to her bed.  Ian’s bed, once upon a time.  Sometimes she imagined it still smelled like him.  The idea used to be comforting.

She dropped down on her back, staring up at the ceiling.  She didn’t let herself think anything, just traced the cracks in the plaster with her eyes, counting them silently.

Her cell phone buzzed angrily.  She pulled it out of her pocket, sighing when she looked at the name on the Caller ID.  After a second’s hesitation, she clicked it open and put it to her ear.

“Hi, Deb - “  

Mandy didn’t even manage to get the full greeting out before Debbie was sob-screaming a nearly incomprehensible stream into her ears.  “How could you do this to me, Mandy?  I thought you were my friend!  Did you think it was funny, some kind of joke?  Toby never wants to see me again because of you!”

Mandy didn’t speak.  Not like Debbie was really giving her a chance, anyway.  She wasn’t sure how someone could yell that loud and that long without any breaks for oxygen.  “ - You broke his nose, you know that?!  He had to go to the ER and tell them he got mugged!  You’re some kind of psychopath!  Why did you do it, huh?  What did I ever do to you? I trusted you, you know, and you stabbed me in the back!  All I ever wanted was to be like you!  You just can’t stand to see anyone happy, can you, because you’re so fucking miserable!  It’s not my fault my brother dumped you!  It’s not my fault all you can get are losers!  I hate you, Mandy Milkovich!  I never want to see you again - !“

“I did it for you,”  Mandy spoke without emotion, cutting off Debbie’s tirade, and her flat words seemed to jolt Debbie into silence for a moment.  “You’re not a tool.  Don’t let anyone treat you like one.”

There was silence at last; all Mandy could hear was Debbie’s hitched sobbing on the other end.  She clutched the phone tighter.  “Don’t be me, Debbie.  Believe me, you don’t want this.”

With that, she clicked off the phone and threw it aside.  Once more, she stared up at the ceiling, starting over, counting the cracks anew.  It was the same thing she used to do as a little girl when she couldn’t sleep.

Just like then, she promised herself she wouldn’t cry.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks*
> 
> I know, I know! I promise, even my taste for angst does have its limits. Mickey, Mandy, Ian, and Svetlana are my babies. I put them through a lot of shit, but it's just my way of dealing with all the stuff I feel the series have left wide open so far.
> 
> At least Kev, V, and Fiona were super fun to write this chapter. We may be seeing more of them.
> 
> And on a random note, I have no idea what the names of the two oldest Milkovich brothers are. I don't even know if there are supposed to be just two. I don't even think the writers know. So until they clear that up for us, I've gone on the best Tumblr speculation I can find and hence Joey and Colin.
> 
> So, fic's on a mini hiatus til at least the 26th, unless I can sneak in some writing time while we're traveling, but I'm not holding my breath. Again, thank you all so much for taking the time to read, and feedback is always greatly appreciated.


	13. Sins of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona lays down some truth on both Ian and Lip; Svetlana reveals something surprising, and Mickey learns his fate.

 

The morning after Terry’s wake at the Alibi dawned in sweltering heat, like every other day for the past few months.  Ian, who lacked a bed at the Gallagher house, seeing as it belonged to Mandy now, had woken up early after a restless few hours tossing and turning on the couch.

He’d been hoping for some quiet time, give him a chance to catch his breath and ponder his unhappy return home, but no such luck.  It seemed as though Fiona had been lying in wait - as soon as she heard Ian moving around, she and Lip both sprung out from nowhere.  He should have expected it, he supposed - he’d faked being asleep when she came home the night before, and he knew she was worried.

Now the three of them were in the kitchen, Fiona making breakfast as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake the rest of the household before she dragged out every single tidbit of Ian’s sorry tale of woe.  

There was a long, strained silence in the Gallagher kitchen when Ian was done speaking.  Fiona and Lip exchanged a long look from where they sat across the breakfast bar from their younger brother.

"Jesus, would someone please say something?"  Ian finally demanded.  "I know I fucked up, ok?  Let me have it - I can take it."

"Mandy?  You fucked _Mandy_?!"  Lip burst out.

Both Ian and Fiona stared at Lip, shocked by the rising vehemence of his voice.  

"Oh, now you care?"  The barely banked frustration of the last few days were threatening an avalanche aimed right at Lip's fucking head.  "You had Mandy every which way but loose and you dumped her!  What the fuck game are you playing with her anyway?  Taking Amanda on dates to the Waffle Cottage, rubbing that shit in her face, and don't think I missed the way you were staring at her last night either!  Why can't you just let her go?" Ian was off his stool now, facing his older brother with his hands balled into fists.

For a second it looked like Lip was going to jump up and fire back but then his shoulders slumped.  "I don't know."  

Ian started to retort angrily but Fiona got up this time, jumping between them.  "Hey!  Everybody calm down!"  She turned to Ian and glared at him until he reluctantly took his seat again, still firing poison dart eyes at Lip.

Satisfied that Ian was under control, Fiona turned back to Lip. "I don't know what your deal is with Mandy Milkovich but whatever game you're playing with her needs to stop.  That girl has been through enough.  What she needs right now is a friend, not some arrogant dipshit who only wants what he can't have."

"Always good to know what  you really think of me," Lip grumbled but Fiona was already refocused on Ian as she slid back onto her stool.   

“As for you..." She shook her head.  "Exactly what the fuck were you _thinking_?!

"I wasn't.  I was totally out of my mind.  Neither of us knew what we were doing," Ian stared back down at his nearly untouched plate of bacon and eggs.

"Yeah, I get that," Fiona gave him a disgusted look.  "I can’t imagine what Mandy was thinking, bringing that crap around you in the first place, but you’re the one who chose to take it.   Did you even consider for a second what that would do to your recovery?  Not to mention that it was a slap in the face to every single one of us who have fought so hard for you these past few months!  Me, Lip, even Mandy, not to mention Mickey!  Do you have any concept of what that boy has been through for you?"

"Of course I do -" Ian started to protest but Fiona was already shaking her head.

"No, I don't think you do.  Ian, I don’t even want to think of where you could have ended up had Mickey not brought you home.  He came out to the whole south side and let his father nearly beat him to death for you!   He's been there, holding your hand through every single up and down since!  And he’s doing all this while he’s juggling a wife, a baby, and a whole shit ton of Milkovich brand baggage.  You know, I used to think that Mickey wasn't ready for the level of commitment it would take to keep you guys together.  Now I'm starting to think that _you're_ the one who isn't ready."

Ian flinched.  "That's not fair, Fiona!  I know how much of a shitshow I've been these past few months; believe me.  But don’t you fucking stand there and act like I haven’t tried.  I messed up, OK?  I dropped the ball.  Why does that have to wipe out everything else I’ve done?  I thought of all people, you’d understand what this feels like!  At least I had the excuse of being high!”  

Hurt flashed across Fiona's face and she started to turn away.  Lip glared at his brother fiercely.  “Nice going, asswipe.”

Ian quickly reached out and grabbed Fiona’s arm, stopping her.  "Hey, I'm sorry.  That was a low blow."

"No, it wasn't," Fiona sighed, fiddling with her ponytail.  "It's true.  I self destructed and I blew everything.  My job, Mike..."  She looked at Ian.  "I just don't want you to make the same mistakes.  We can only do so much.”  She sat back down on her stool, pulling herself closer to Ian.  “It’s not fair that things have to be so much harder for you.  But it is what it is.  You can’t just do dumb shit like this without considering just how much more you have to lose.”

“Yeah,” Ian studied the counter again for a moment before he met her dark eyes.  “Do you think I’ve lost Mickey?”

Fiona sighed.  “I don’t know.  I think you are the only person in the world he’s ever allowed himself to be vulnerable with.  When someone gives you that kind of trust and you break it, it’s a hell of a lot to forgive.”  She stood once more, putting a gentle hand on her brother’s downcast face.  “I will say this.  Mickey Milkovich has surprised me more than once lately.  If you’re ready - seriously ready to put in the work it’s going to take to fix this, then I think there’s hope.”  

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Ian’s forehead.  “And with that, I am going to bow out of this conversation.  I’ve got some errands to run, so you two are in charge of the kids,” she shot a worried look upstairs.  “Don’t let Debbie stay in bed all day.”

“Why; what’s going on with her?”  Ian was startled out of his own thoughts by Fiona’s tone.

His sister shrugged.  “You’re not the only Gallagher experiencing the pangs of heartache this morning.  That punk Toby dumped her out of the blue.  I’m not sorry to see the back of that little hoodrat but it’s going to take a while for Debbie to see she’s better off.    She was really upset last night.   Try to cheer her up if you can,”  With a final wave, she headed out the back door.

“Wow,”  Ian rubbed his forehead.  “I didn’t even know she was dating someone.  Guess I missed out on a lot.  Kinda wrapped up in my own shit lately,”

Lip’s mouth curled at that.  Ian gave him a hard look.  “You got something to say now too?”

Lip held up his hands.  “Nope, I think Fiona pretty much covered it.”

“Well, good,” Ian snapped.  “Because I wasn’t through talking to you about Mandy.”

Lip started to respond, but they were interrupted by the chiming of his ringtone.  "Hang on,"  Lip picked up his phone.  "Hello?"  He started to move away from Ian, but swung back around abruptly, his eyebrows raising.

"Hi, _Mickey_ ," he gave Ian a significant look.

Ian immediately reached for the phone but Lip waved him off, still listening.  "Uh, yeah.  He's fine, actually.  In fact, he's right here if you want to t - uh, ok.  Never mind then,"  he clicked off the phone, tossing it back onto the counter.

"What did he say?"  Ian hated the desperate, pleading tone that had crept into his voice, but he couldn't help it.  

Lip shrugged.  "Wanted to know if you were OK.  You know, taking your meds, not disappearing to parts unknown or into the cars of dirty old men, that kind of thing, I guess."

"Why didn't you let me talk - " Ian began but Lip was already shaking his head.  

"Didn't want to talk to you.  Hung up as soon as I started to ask."  He shook his head as Ian's face fell.  "Sorry.  What did you expect though, really?"  He sighed, running a hand through his tangled brown hair, his gaze hardening.  "Of all the people you could have fucked, Ian..."

“I know, I know…”  Ian put his head in his hands.

Lip was merciful enough to let him marinate in regret quietly for a few minutes.  When Ian finally looked up, his brother’s expression was a mixture of concern and amusement.

“Hey, I gotta ask...that was your first time with a girl, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, so?”  Ian picked up a piece of cold bacon, twirling it in his fingers before taking a bite.

“So, how was it?”  Lip grinned, leaning forward.  “I mean, you were still like half a virgin!  Did you see the light?  Decide you like a little whisker biscuit here and there?”

“What the - seriously, Lip?  Half a virgin?  Do you consider yourself half a virgin just because you’ve never had a dick up your ass?”

“Who says I haven’t?”  Lip grinned at Ian’s expression.  “OK, point taken.  Still gay, then?”

“Still gay,”  Ian said decidedly.  “I don’t really even remember it.  It was just kind of a blur.  I don’t think it was any better for Mandy, either.”

Lip clenched his jaw at the mention of Mandy’s name, and his face darkened.

"Lip, I know you're upset with me too, because of Mandy - "

"Because of _Mandy_?"  Lip stared at him in disbelief.  Ian barely caught the flash of white hot fury in his brother's eyes before Lip's fist caught him in the jaw so hard that he was knocked off the stool and onto the kitchen floor.  

"Fuck!"  He choked out as his mouth filled rapidly with blood.  After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he managed to pull himself to a sitting position, tentatively feeling his face.  For a second there, he'd really thought Lip had broken something, but no, he could still move his jaw, though not without considerable pain.  The blood was from biting down hard on his tongue.

Lip's bronzed knees appeared in front of Ian's face, and then his brother knelt down next to him, his face cheerful once more.  "Believe it or not, that was for Mickey,"  he patted Ian's head mockingly and stood up.  “Clean yourself off, finish your breakfast, and take your pills.  We’re taking the kids to the pool,”  he stood up, and sauntered out of the kitchen, whistling, leaving Ian dumbstruck, and with pieces of Liam's dropped Cheerios stuck to his knees.

* * *

“Here you go,”  Fiona looked up from the barstool at the Alibi as V slid a frost covered bottle of beer towards her.

“Fresh out of the freezer, just how you like ‘em,” V uncapped her own bottle as she joined her on the next barstool.  She grinned as she watched her friend take a long swallow.  “Do the boys know that your urgent errands involve spending the afternoon drinking here with me?”

Fiona grinned.  “What Lip and Ian don’t know won’t hurt them.  Besides, they both need to spend some time doing something other than worrying about who they’re going to connect their genitals to.”  Her smile faded slightly as she set down the beer.  “It kinda got to me, what Ian said, about at least he had an excuse for what he did.  I mean, he’s bipolar!  What reasoning did I have?  Do they even make pills for being a standard edition Gallagher fuck up?”

“Hey now,”  V leaned over, already having been filled in on the latest Gallagher drama.  “First of all, Ian screwed his live in lover’s sister on the couch of the apartment they share, so the boy has no room to judge anyone.  Second of all, just because you don’t have a diagnosable condition doesn’t mean you haven’t been dealing with a world of shit for far too long.  I’m amazed you didn’t crack years ago!” She leaned forward and squeezed Fiona’s hand.  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.  You’ve cleaned up, you’re back to working your ass off for those kids, and not having any fun at all while you’re at it.  Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself enough?  Why don’t you try doing something for yourself before you suffocate under all the pressure again?  Maybe even try dating once in a while!  I mean, they weren’t all bad, were they -”  she broke off abruptly, eyes widening at something behind Fiona.  “Speak of the devil - look who’s here!”  

Fiona whirled around.  To her surprise, it was Tony the Cop that V was gesturing at.  He was descending the staircase that led to Mickey and Svetlana’s Rub & Tug operation, a slightly baffled looking Svetlana behind him.

“Hey, Tony!  Over here!”  V gestured to him, smiling broadly.

“V, _no_!”  Fiona hissed.  “Thank you, but no.  Been there, done that.  I can’t imagine it being any less boring the second time around.”

“Alright, then,”  V shrugged.

Tony, who had turned a brilliant red once he realized he’d been spotted, gave the two an embarrassed wave and then without a backward glance, hurried out the front door.

“Well, damn,”  V leaned back on her stool and laughed.  “Good thing you weren’t interested, because it looks like Tony is all kinds of over you.  Guess he’s gone global!”  

Fiona shrugged as V waved Svetlana over.  “Hey, girl, is Tony a regular upstairs now?  Didn’t think he was the type.”

Svetlana shook her head.  She still looked confused.  “No, today is first time.  He says he wants to see me,”  she shrugged.  “Cops do it all the time - they want freebie or they will close us down.  So I tried to -” she broke off, struggling for the words as she mimed unzipping a zipper.

“You tried to free willy,”  V helped.  “Go on.”

Svetlana nodded.  “But he wouldn't let me!  He says he wants _date_!  What does that mean?” Looking more baffled than ever, she slumped onto the next bar stool, gesturing for Kev to bring her a drink.  

“It means he wants more than a quick bang,” Kev dropped a shot in front of her.  “You need him to spell it out for you?  He likes you!”

“ _Likes_ me?”  Svetlana stared at him.  “But why did he not want blowjob then?  What kind of man turns that down?  Does that mean he is gay?  Because I already have one of those!”

Kev snorted before turning to V and Fiona.  “Ladies, take this one, please?”

Fiona turned to Svetlana.  “Tony's a nice guy, really.  I think you should go for it.”

“A nice guy..” Svetlana rolled the words around on her tongue dubiously, looking as though she doubted such a creature existed.  “What would I do with a nice guy?  What would he do with me?”

Fiona and V exchanged looks before V leaned forward.  “Honey, haven't you ever had a boyfriend?”

Svetlana shook her head before she picked up her shot, tossing it back.

“But you've been on a date, right?”  Fiona questioned.

Svetlana stared at her before she shot a significant look at the staircase leading upstairs.  

“No, no, no!”  V shook her head vigorously.  “Pay for play does not count! A date date!  You know, they pick you up, take you someplace nice to eat, pay the tab, play footsie with you under the table…”

“Like in the movies?”  Svetlana shrugged.  “No.  Not like that.  Nika and I drank beer and watched movies.  Sometimes she took me to mall, but that was so I could watch for security while she took things.”

“Seriously, never?  No guy _or_ girl has ever taken you out?  How old are you?”  Fiona demanded.

“Twenty-five,”  Svetlana paused.  “I think.  I lose track.”

 Fiona and V exchanged another long look over Svetlana's head.   She looked back at Svetlana, who was moodily stirring her drink.  

"Fi, forget code pink," V said out loud.  "This is a Girl Code RED if I've ever seen one."

Fiona nodded vigorously.  "Svetlana, get your stuff."

"Why?" Svetlana looked up in surprise.  "Where are we going?"

"My house," Fiona looked at V for confirmation.  "We are going to get drunk on cheap liquor, give each other bad mani-pedis, and V and I are going to talk you through the finer points of dating.  Now I may not be the best one to give dating advice, but compared to a babe in the woods like you, I'm the professional. "

"You got enough experience to go pro, that's for damn sure!"  V cracked, and laughed at the look Fiona shot her.  

Svetlana had stood up but she looked hesitant.  "I am supposed to be in charge of the girls upstairs and I have Geno upstairs..."

V shrugged.  "So?  I've got to pick up my babies from Mama anyway; another one won’t make a difference.  And Mickey can handle shit upstairs, right?"

"He's not here," Svetlana bit her lip.  "He said he had something to do."

"Oh.  Well then..."  V looked over at Kev, who was refilling Kermit's drink at the other end of the bar.  "Babe, you can handle the Rub & Tug til Mickey gets here, right?"

"No!"  Kev sputtered.  

"That's settled then.  Let’s go!" V turned back to them, ignoring Kev's loud protests.  

"OK,"Svetlana's first genuine smile since the conversation had begun transformed her face.  "I'll get Geno," With that, she hurried away.

V turned back to Fiona.  "How much you wanna bet that girl has never had a friend, either?"

"Well, she does now," Fiona replied determinedly.

"Damn straight!"  V slapped Fiona a high five.

"Yes, this is all very touching," Kev snapped, walking over as V and Fiona stood up.  "But there is no way in hell you all are leaving me alone with a pack of insane in the membrane Russian whores!"

V smirked.  "You were the one who told us to take this one, remember?  Well, we’re taking it right out the front door.  Besides, you’ll be fine.  What’s the worst that could happen?”  

Svetlana rejoined them at that moment, Geno in her arms.  

Just then, there was a near hysterical shriek from the top of the stairs.  A half dressed Russian hooker with tattered blond extensions and a world weary expression emerged, a fully naked man dancing in pain beside her, holding his crotch and wailing in agony. "Sveta," the girl called down.  "Irina mixed up the lube and the athletic rub again!"

"That's all you, Kev!"  V grabbed Svetlana's arm and hustled her towards the front.

"Remember, Kev," Fiona yelled over her shoulder, grinning at Kev’s horrified face.  "Keep your pimp hand strong!"

With that the three of them dunked out the door and ran, laughing, all the way down the alley.

* * *

Mickey paused on the walkway that led to the police station, staring ahead of him at the ominous glass doors.  He could walk through them a free man, but that didn’t mean he was going to be able to walk out the same way.

Of course, he was jumping the gun with his pessimistic thinking.  Yeah, the DNA test results were going to swing him faster than a game of hangman, but they wouldn’t be back for weeks, even months.  He still had some time.  He could split before they even took the fucking sample, head to Mexico or some shit.  How much effort would they really put into finding him, anyway?  It wasn’t like anyone in law enforcement really gave a shit about some South Side drug dealing thug’s death anyway.  They’d barely been able to pretend to care enough to go through the motions so far.

So, yeah.  Mickey could run.  He could do a lot of things besides walk into that building and willingly let some underpaid city schmuck stick a cotton swab in his mouth.

But where would that leave Svetlana?  Geno?  Where the fuck would that leave him?  Hiding in the shadows, looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life?  Leaving behind everyone he ever cared about to save his own skin?  

Leaving Ian?  Letting him find out that Mickey really was the coward he’d always fought so hard against being?  Not that it should matter to him what Gallagher thought anymore.  He'd split.  Left.  Walked out.  Promised he wasn't leaving and then disappeared as soon as it got rough.  What a fucking joke. 

Fuck it.  What was he hanging on to, anyway?  It wasn't like freedom had been doing him any favors lately.  One dead man walking, coming right up.  Mickey squared his shoulders and shoved the door open.  

A few mumbled words to the desk cop on duty, and he was waved down the hallway to a waiting room full of scarred plastic chairs.  

“What the fuck are you doing here?”  A familiar voice snapped as he entered.  His brothers Joey and Colin were already seated, but they stood up now to face him, Joey cracking his knuckles in a way that was supposed to be menacing.

“Same as you, shit for brains.  DNA test.”  Ignoring their twin glowers, Mickey moved across the room and slumped into a seat along the opposing wall.

“Ass bandit!”  He heard Colin cough loudly as he and Joey sat back down as well.  The two snickered loudly.

“Clever,” he snapped.  “Go look up some more ways to say I’m gay, why don’t you?  I heard that one already.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brothers’ smiles drop.  Their expressions turned menacing as they leaned towards him.

“If Dad were here, he’d put a stop to this.  He wouldn’t let any one of his kids prance around calling themselves a fucking fairy,”  Colin’s voice was low and harsh.  

“Well, he ain’t here.  He’s dead.  Times change.”  Mickey could feel himself tighten defensively.  Not wanting them to see they were getting to him, he faked casualness, picking up a magazine from the chipped coffee table in front of him and snapping it open.

“Maybe we’ll just have to step up and teach you a lesson all by ourselves,”  Joey shared a smirk with Colin.  “Leave you crying on the floor just like we did with Iggy.”

Mickey’s head snapped up and the magazine slid from his hands.  “You did that?”  he whispered.  “You helped Dad fuck him up like that?”

Joey and Colin both grinned broadly as if they couldn’t be prouder of themselves.  “Oh, come on, Mickey, you remember how Milkoviches play Kick The Can, don’t you?  You spent an awful lot of time being the can until you learned how to fight back.  Iggy needed a reminder of how to play.”  

“You sorry ass, motherfucking pieces of shit!”  Mickey was back on his feet.  “Have you even what you did to him?!  You nearly fucking killed him!”  

“He’ll live,”  Colin shrugged nonchalantly, and Mickey would have launched himself across the room at him if Detective Simmons hadn’t decided on that very moment to stroll into the waiting room.

“Thank you all for coming -”  The weary looking black man broke off as he took in Mickey’s clenched fists and Joey and Colin’s defensive stances.  “Is there a problem here?”

“No,”  Mickey nearly bit off the words, struggling to put a damper on his rage.  Wrong time, wrong place, but goddamn, his fucking wanna-be Terry clone brothers were going to pay for this.  “Let’s get this shit over with.”

Detective Simmons took a deep breath.  “Actually, the DNA tests will no longer be necessary.  I’m sorry that you all had to waste time coming out here but -”  

“What the fuck are you talking about?”  Joey burst out.  

Detective Simmons held up his hands.  “Please, there’s no reason to get upset.  We just had a little  mix up, I’m afraid,”  he broke off, rubbing the beads of sweat that had appeared on his forehead.  “The DNA samples from your father’s body were contaminated during transit.  It was a very regrettable error, and the officer involved has been disciplined.  Regardless, we can no longer use them.  Now, I don’t feel it will make any difference, given the strong case we already have against the men we’ve arrested but -”

“Are you fucking kidding me?  You fucked up evidence that could convict our father’s murderers?”  Colin and Joey were shouting now, and Mickey saw officers appearing as if summoned from every corner.  “You incompetent pig fuckers!  You don’t even give a shit, do you?”

“There’s no need for this; settle down, please!”  Detective Simmons tried desperately for calm but it was like waving a red flag in front of two angry bulls.  Colin charged, and Joey was hot on his heels.  Before they reached the detective, other police officers had raced into action, throwing themselves into the beginning fray and wrestling the fighting Milkovich brothers’ hands behind their backs to be cuffed.

“Mickey!”  Joey yelled as he tried to fight off the two officers.  “Fucking help us!”

Mickey stayed right where he was.  “Yeah, sure, I’ll help,” he looked at the officers who were struggling to contain his brothers.  “Hey, watch yourselves - they keep shivs in their socks!”

At his words, there was a rush of blue and he watched at least ten officers dogpile his brothers until all he could see of them was a waving arm or leg.  One officer knelt on Colin’s back as he unsnapped his Taser, and Mickey grinned at the subsequent howl of pain.

Detective Simmons sighed as he watched, before he turned to Mickey.  “We’ll throw them in holding until they calm down, and then we’ll let them go, barring the absence of shivs, of course.”

“Ain’t no skin off my back,”  Mickey shrugged.  “So...I can go?”

“Of course,”  Detective Simmons shook his hand absently, his eyes already back on the fray.  “If there are any other developments, I’ll be in touch.”

 _Jesus fucking christ,_ Mickey thought to himself as he strolled down the corridor.  What a stroke of fucking luck that was.  One clumsy cop, and he was off the hook.   

His hands were shaking with relief as he stopped to pull his cell phone out of his pocket.  He had to call Svetlana, figure out with her how they were going to squeeze Iggy into their apartment when he got out of the hospital.  No way could Mickey let him go back to their father’s house with Colin and Joey now.

Just as he started to dial, Mickey realized he wasn’t alone.  Just around the corner, someone was talking in low tones.  Mickey started to walk past, but his steps slowed as he recognized Officer O’Neill, who was talking on his own cell phone, his back to Mickey.

“Carlos, calm down. It went better than I expected.  I just got desk duty for a few weeks, that’s all.  You should have seen Simmon’s face when he heard - he wanted me fired.  Nobody cared about his opinion though, just like I told you.  Good news is I’ll be home for dinner a lot more, right?” he listened for a moment, then laughed.  “Yeah, I think this does call for a celebration.  I’ll be there in twenty.”  With that, he clicked off the phone, then turned, looking surprised to see Mickey standing there.

“You are fucking _shitting_ me!”  Mickey was too shocked to consider what he was saying.  “It was you!  You fucked up the samples on purpose!”

Officer O’Neill shot a nervous glance up and down the corridor.  “Walk with me, kid,” he clapped a hand on Mickey’s back, ushering him down the hallway to quieter quarters.

They strolled in silence for a moment as Mickey’s tumultuous thoughts roared around his head and he struggled with what to say.  “I…why...” he started and then gave up with a sigh.

 They reached the end of the corridor and Officer O’Neill turned to him.  “I'm just going to take that constipated look on your face for thanks since it looks like it would cause you actual physical pain to say it out loud.”

 Mickey started to speak and the older man held his hand up to forestall him.  “You don’t really need to ask me why, do you?  I’ve been around men like your father all my life.  I have the scars to prove it, and I’ve been at the crime scenes of far too many of their victims.  This is the one time I can do something about it.  So look at it this way.  You got dealt a shitty hand in life, and I think you've been long past due a break,” he took a deep breath.  “I think I’ve earned the right to ask you for one favor in return.  Remember this is the oly second chance you’re going to get. Don’t blow it.”

“I won't,”  Mickey took a deep breath as he looked the man directly in the eyes.  “ _Thank you_.”  

Officer O’Neill smiled at that, pulling a small card out of his pocket and writing something on the back before handing it to him.  “My husband Carlos owns Gordo's restaurant on 5th.  Bring your ‘modern family’ in for dinner sometime.  He'd get quite a kick out of you guys,” he handed the card to Mickey.  “My cell number’s on the back.  Next time you find yourself neck deep in shit, call me before you do something stupid, OK?”  With a grin, he gave Mickey a final slap on the back and strolled back the way they came, disappearing around a corner.

Leaving Mickey standing there, open mouthed with astonishment, and struggling with a vastly wide array of concepts that had never actually occurred to him before.  Maybe the world wasn't as slanted to shovel shit his way as he thought.  Maybe he really was due a break.

Maybe there was really a God who gave second chances after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I don't always revel in angst! 
> 
> At least until next chapter, where Mickey and Mandy have a long awaited showdown.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter; feedback is always appreciated.


	14. Ringworm and Roaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Gallagher pays Mickey a surprise visit.
> 
> OK, so this chapter is not at all the chapter I had intended to write, which I still am planning to deliver to y'all shortly, probably Wednesday. It's just a short bit that can almost be described, dare I say it, as...lighthearted. In other words, I may be coming down with something, and will have to be quarantined posthaste until I have regained my ability to angst. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It had not been an easy night.

Mickey’s euphoria over the spectre of impending lifelong incarceration being lifted was hard to maintain when he’d come home that evening to a screaming, red faced baby and the wild eyed stares of Svetlana & Mandy, who’d clearly endured all they could take.  The three of them spent the rest of the night doing everything they could to calm Geno, to no avail.  Mickey’d tried his knuckle trick until he could have sworn he felt the first aches of early onset arthritis kicking in; he’d even done his share of walking and rocking the kid, but nothing seemed to help.

Svetlana blamed it on the teething.  Mickey and Mandy had both pretended to agree, but all three of them knew what the deal was.  Geno wanted Ian back.  

He wasn’t the only one.

It wasn’t until the clock had gone from double back to single digits that Geno finally cried himself into exhaustion.  By that point, Mickey had been too keyed up to sleep.  He spent a couple of hours drinking and trying to remind himself about his lucky break.

Trying to ignore the fact that the luckiest break of his life didn’t mean a fucking thing when the person he wanted to share it with the most wasn’t around.

Mickey had finally fallen into a restless slumber on the couch sometime around when dawn had begun to light the shadows.  Unconsciousness; the lack of ability to think and feel was a merciful relief when it came at last.

So it was most unwelcome when the persistent rapping at the front door woke him up.   He tried to ignore it at first, hoping Svetlana or Mandy would get it instead, but they seemed to be well insulated in their rooms and he was practically five feet from the damn front door.  Grumbling to himself, he finally shuffled over and threw it open.

“Good morning, Mickey,”  Fiona Gallagher was standing there, smiling, holding a brown paper bag.

Instant alarm bells went off.  “What’s going on?  Is it Ian?  He OK or - “

Fiona was smiling just a little too knowingly at his alarm.  She was already shaking her head though, and he slumped in relief.  “He’s fine.”

“What the fuck do you want then?” he snapped, two seconds away from closing the door in her face.  He was so not in the fucking mood for a Fiona lecture right now.

Fiona sighed.  “Can you glower at me from inside your apartment?  It smells like piss out here and I’m afraid I’m going to get mugged,”  she shot a leery look down the building’s hallway.

“Fine,” he stepped back, allowing her to enter and close the door behind her.

“I brought you some things for Geno,”  Without being invited, Fiona headed straight for the tiny kitchenette and began to unpack the bag she carried.  “Figured he was probably moving into the 6-9 months size range, so here’s some more of Liam’s old clothes,” she passed him a neatly folded stack of brightly colored clothing.  “And I figured you must be running low on teething biscuits, so I got some more of those too, and another tube of Orajel.  OK if I just leave that stuff on the counter?”  Without waiting for an answer, she balled up the now empty bag and tossed it into the kitchen trash.  “Good!”  she looked around at the cluttered counters, than at the stove.  “Want me to make you some pancakes?  I seem to recall you like them.”

Mickey tossed the clothing she’d handed to him onto the couch and followed her into the kitchen.  “Fiona,” he said through clenched teeth.  “What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want?”

Fiona turned to face him, too bright smile dropping.  “Ian told us what happened.  With him and Mandy, I mean.”

“Great,”  Mickey turned away from her.  “And I’ll bet you couldn’t wait to come right over and tell me all the ways in which it’s my fault this shit happened, right?”

“No!”  Fiona had the nerve to actually look offended at that.  “I just -“  she sighed.  “Look, I realize I haven’t always been the most...supportive of you guys.  I gave you a lot of shit and I probably made things harder on you when you were just trying to take care of Ian.  That really wasn’t my intention.  I just wanted what was best for him.  I think I realize now that the best thing for him has been _you_.”

Mickey opened his mouth and then closed it again, no clue how to respond to that unexpected tidbit.  

Fiona smiled slightly at the expression on his face.  “Without you, I don’t know where Ian would be right now.  You saved him, in more ways than one.  I want to thank you for that.”

“Yeah, whatever,”  Mickey rubbed the back of his neck.  “I didn’t do it for you, or your thanks.”

“I know,”  Fiona leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms.  “It doesn’t change what you did and I’m not going to forget it, just because you and Ian aren’t together right now.  I know you’re hurting.  I’m not going to pretend that doesn’t matter to me.”

Mickey started to speak, even before he really knew what he was going to say, but Fiona stepped forward, stopping him.  “I’m not here to give you advice, or try to tell you to forgive him.  I don’t have the right.  That’s something that you two need to work out, or not work out, all on your own.  I’m here because I want to tell you that I am incredibly proud of you.  Not just for what you’ve done for Ian.  For what you’ve done for you.  You have come so far from everything your father tried to mold you into.  You’ve been a rock for everyone around you, and I have to say, I’m impressed.”  

With that, she stepped even closer, seeming amused at Mickey’s tongue tied state.  “And now I’m going to hug you.  I usually don’t feel the need to warn people first, but I really don’t want to be punched in the face.”  

“Uh…”  More than slightly alarmed by the sentimental incline he now found himself balancing on, Mickey tried to back away, but Fiona grasped his arms firmly before she wrapped her arms around him.  He didn’t hug her back, but she didn’t seem to expect him too.  She kept the embrace brief, but heartfelt.  

“Uh, ok…”  he managed to get out when she stepped back.  “So...you said what you came to say, so I guess you can, uh…”  he looked towards the front door but Fiona wasn’t paying attention.  She was looking around the apartment again, head cocked, face both contemplative and critical.  

“Isn’t it like a law now that carpets have to be replaced before new tenants move in?”  She traced the worn carpet underneath her feet with a sneaker.  “Not that slumlords really seem to care about that shit around here, but I’ll bet we could intimidate your building manager into doing a few repairs, have Lip throw some legalese at them or something.  Would be safer for Geno to crawl around on, right?  This floor is probably full of loose staples and God knows what else.”  She turned back towards the kitchen.  “So how about those pancakes?”

Mickey gritted his teeth.  “One, I don’t have any pancake mix.  Two, you already said your piece.  Why are you still here?”

“I told you,”  Fiona put her hands on her hips.  “You were there when my family needed you.  Now I’m going to return the favor.”

“Who says I need you?”  Mickey snapped back.

Fiona sighed.  “You know, you don’t have to handle everything by yourself,” her words were eerily parallel to Ian’s, and Mickey shifted uncomfortably.  “You’ve got a lot going on.  Your dad just died, Mandy’s having issues, you’re raising your little brother as your own so his illegal immigrant mother can stay in the country - it’s not a crime to need help.”

“Wait -”  Mickey broke in.  “What did you just say?”  he stared at her.  “Did Ian tell you that?”

“No,”  Fiona shook her head.  “Svetlana did,”  she shrugged at his thunderstruck expression.  “You know, your wife.   Tallish, brown hair, pretty in a ‘I’ll cut your throat’ kinda way, tragic life story like something out of Les Miserables, any of that ringing a bell?”

“Cute,” he tossed back.  “Since when are you two so buddy buddy?”

Fiona wrinkled her nose at him.  “I’m discovering Milkoviches are like ringworm.  You’re contagious, you get under the skin, and you’re hard as hell to get rid of.”

“Look who’s talking,” he shot back.  “You Gallaghers are like roaches,  You see one, you know there’s ten more around the corner.”

“Now you’re getting it,”  Fiona grinned.  “And since it looks like we’re stuck with each other, we might as well make the best of it.”  She plopped herself onto the couch.  “And I’m not leaving, not until you let me help you.  Come on, give me one thing I can do.  That’s all I ask.”

“I don’t need your help!”  Mickey burst out, beyond frustrated.  Fucking hell - what was it with Fiona and her mommy complex?

“Oh, this is going to be a long day,”  Fuck him if Fiona wasn’t stretching out on what had been his bed, and putting her feet up on the opposite end of the couch.  She dug out her phone to look at the display.  “Well, not so much a day.  I have to be at the diner at two.  It still gives us a few hours to kill.  How can we pass the time, I wonder?”  she looked again at her phone.  “Ooh, check it out - Debbie downloaded a karaoke app.  How do you feel about Lady Gaga?”

“Oh, hell the fuck no!”  Mickey looked around desperately, before he returned his gaze to Fiona as she adjusted her position on the tattered red plaid couch.  “A sofa bed,”  he blurted out.

“Excuse me?”  Fiona sat up, raising her eyebrows.

“I need a sofa bed.  Iggy’s getting out of the hospital in a couple of days, and we’re a bed short.  I’m going to give him mine, but that couch is uncomfortable as fuck for sleeping.”  

“A sofa bed,”  Fiona mused, standing up.  She smiled.  “I can do that.  I think I saw a couple in the Penny Saver.  Sheila might have a lead on one too; she’s insane about yard sales, among other things.”

“OK, great, that’s settled,”  Relieved,  Mickey opened the front door and Fiona sauntered through it, looking far more smug than Mickey felt she had any right to be.  

She turned back to face him from the hallway.  “I’ll be back tomorrow morning!”

Mickey groaned, and slammed the door shut on her smiling face.  A second later it flew open again, and Fiona stuck her head back in, grinning wider than ever.  “With pancake mix!”  She slammed the door shut again before he could retort, and he could have sworn he heard her giggling.

He would never have admitted to anyone later, would have denied it under pain of torture or threats of listening to Poker Face on repeat for twenty four hours straight, but he was smiling too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to write this; Fiona would NOT leave my head until I did. 
> 
> Feedback, as always, is much appreciated!


	15. You Should Know Me Better Than That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Mandy face off over her betrayal. tw: mentions of sexual abuse.
> 
> This is the 2nd chapter that I've uploaded in less than 24 hours, so if you have not read chapter 14 yet, please do so!
> 
> Chapter title is from I Should Live In Salt, by The National.

It was just after midnight when Mandy reached the front door of the apartment.  She paused a minute before unlocking the door, listening, but mercifully she heard nothing.  Either Geno was finally sleeping or Mickey and Svetlana had sold him for cash.  She couldn’t exactly blame them if they had, not after the screamfest of the last forty-eight hours.  Geno had a set of lungs on him even a banshee would envy.

Even worse than listening to Geno’s endless shrieks was knowing the reason behind them.  She could pretend all she wanted, but he wasn’t crying because his teeth hurt.  He was crying for the same reason she wanted to - the enormous Grand Canyon size chasm that had opened up in all their lives.  

Because of her.  She’d taken Ian away from Geno.  She’d taken him away from Mickey.

Mandy took another deep breath and smoothed down the polyester of her Waffle Cottage uniform nervously.  God, she just wanted to turn around and run back the other way.  She didn’t know if she could handle another  night of  the deadness in Mickey’s eyes when he looked at her, which wasn’t often.  She’d almost prefer that he’d lose his shit at her, scream, call her a whore, throw things...anything would be better than the emptiness.  The feeling that they were irrevocably shattered, Humpty Dumpty scattered on the pavement, no hope of repair.

With one final deep breath, Mandy unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside.

To her relief, Mickey was nowhere in sight.  The relief was quickly swallowed up by renewed tension when she saw who was around:  Svetlana sat slumped in the corner of the couch, her eyes closed, head propped in one hand.  Next to her, Geno lay sleeping on his back, his legs covered by a light blue blanket.

Mandy bit her lip.  She hadn’t really spoken to her sister-in-law since the day she’d found out about Terry’s death.  The day she’d nearly attacked Svetlana and called her a murderer.

After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to creep by as quietly as possible, and hopefully make it behind the safety of her bedroom curtain without having to confront anyone.

Easier said than done.  As soon as the light squeak of her footsteps sounded, Svetlana’s eyes flickered and then opened as she came out of her upright doze.  She looked confused for a minute, then her eyes lit on the younger woman and her expression became remote, suspicious, as if expecting an attack at any moment.  

“Um…” Mandy moistened her dry lips.  “Why are you out here instead of in bed?”

Svetlana shrugged, weariness evident in every gesture she made.  “This is where he fell asleep.  I did not want to move him,”  she looked down at her son, and her features transformed into a tenderness that was transfixing to watch.

After a moment, she looked back at Mandy, her expression becoming leery once more.  She stood up, and began to bend down to pick Geno up.

“I forgive you,”  Mandy blurted out, no thought before the words came tumbling out of her mouth.  Svetlana straightened up, leaving Geno where he was.  Her expression was startled.

“I mean…for what you did, to my dad - shit,”  Mandy broke off.  “That’s not really what I meant.”

Svetlana pressed her lips together tightly.  “I did not ask for your forgiveness.  I did not have a choice in what I did.  And I am not sorry,”  With that, she started to turn away, but Mandy grabbed her arm.

“Hey!”  she gentled her voice as Geno stirred restlessly.  “He was still my dad.  You can’t ask me to not be upset.  You can’t pretend that I shouldn’t feel -” to her humiliation, her voice cracked.  

Svetlana’s face softened.  “I know,” she murmured.  “I know.”

“No, you don’t!”  Mandy burst out.  Once again, her voice was louder than she meant it to be, but this time, she couldn’t seem to reel herself back.  “You don’t know at all!  You don’t know because what I feel  is -”  she broke off, feeling herself start to shake.  

“What?”  Svetlana reached out and gripped Mandy’s forearm gently.

“Relieved,”  Mandy choked out.  “I’m so fucking happy he’s dead.  I hated him so much.  I hated what he did to me.  I hate the way I still wake up at night thinking he’s coming into my room.  I hate the way that sometimes when someone else’s hands are on me, all I can feel are his.  I hate that he fucked me up, and he fucked my brothers up, and I really believed that he was the only person in this world that really loved me.”  she was laughing now, in short, hysterical bursts.  “I think I was more angry that you were the one who got to do it, and not me.”

“Mandy, shhh,”  Svetlana’s voice was soft, comforting, the way she murmured to Geno on sleepless nights.  She took both of Mandy’s hands in her own, squeezing gently.  “You’re OK now.  It’s all OK.”

After a long moment, Mandy pulled away, suddenly embarrassed.  She wiped at her flushed, damp face.  “Anyway, I just…”  she took a deep breath before the urge to run away overcame what she really wanted to say.  “Thank you.  Not for - this,” she gestured at herself awkwardly.  “For saving Mickey.  I don’t know what I would have done if Terry…”  her face started to crumple again and she couldn’t complete the sentence.

“I understand,”  Svetlana was looking almost as shaky as Mandy felt.  They exchanged tremulous smiles and Svetlana reached out to brush away an errant tear that Mandy hadn’t even realized was there.

The moment was abruptly rear ended by the sound of a door swinging open.  Mandy jumped, turning to see Mickey framed in his bedroom doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  “Is that you two making all that fucking noise?  Would you mind shutting the fuck up before Sir Howl a Lot starts screaming again?”

For a moment, it was almost like old times.  Mandy felt her mouth turn up as she started to retort, but Mickey’s eyes fixed on her as if he’d suddenly remembered who he was talking to, and his face went cold and flat.  He stalked past her without another glance, going into the kitchen and yanking open the refrigerator door.  Mandy heard the click of a bottle, and the hiss as it was opened.

She started to turn away, towards her room, but Svetlana was fixing her with a significant look and then nodding her head towards the kitchen.

“I can’t…” she whispered.

“You could try.  You could do that much for him,”  Svetlana’s face was resolute.  She didn’t wait to see what Mandy would do next, just scooped up Geno in her arms and disappeared into the bedroom before Mandy could find the words to call her back.

She eyed Mickey’s rigid back as he stood away from her, swigging out of the bottle in front of the still open fridge door.

No, she couldn’t.  She already felt drained by the conversation with Svetlana.  Now she was just supposed to go in there and let Mickey unload on her with both barrels?  Fuck that; she was going to bed.

Her feet didn’t seem to be listening, already walking towards the kitchen, and since the rest of her body was attached, she didn’t seem to have much choice except to go along with it.

Just as she walked into the kitchen, Mickey slammed the fridge shut and turned to walk out, beer still clutched in his hand.  He froze as he saw her there.

“Mickey,”  Mandy took a steadying breath.  “We need to talk.” 

* * *

Mickey stared at his sister’s pallid face.  Her eyes were red, and her eyeliner was smeared in blurry shadows.

“Did you hear me?”  she demanded after a long moment.  “We need to talk.”

“No,” he snapped, and started to move past her, but she shifted, blocking his way.  

“Mandy, move!”  God, didn’t she get it?  The fact that they hadn’t talked was the only thing that was still keeping the both of them here, together.  Once the silence was broken, when it all spilled over and they were ripping out each other’s guts, when everything he’d wanted to tell her for days came rushing out, how did they come back from that?  

He didn’t know.  He didn’t want to find out.

“Mickey…”  she croaked out as he tried to push past her once again.  “Please.”

“You want to talk,” he couldn’t help the bitter laugh.  The tide was rising; it was coming in to submerge them both, and he couldn’t stop it now.  “What could you possibly say, Mandy?  You didn't mean it?  You were high?  You accidentally tripped and fell on my boyfriend's dick?"

Mutely, Mandy shook her head.  Her eyes were filling rapidly with tears.

“Oh, now you have nothing to say?  Well, how about this, Mandy?  Tell me why.  Tell me what the fuck I did that was so bad that you would do this to me.”

She shook her head.  “You didn’t -” she started to protest, but he was advancing on her, backing her up,  his face inches from hers.

“Fucking tell me!”

“You took him away from me!”  she yelled back, and the words froze both of them.  They just stood there, face to face, breathing hard, until she sucked in a breath and continued.

“You took Ian away.   He was mine before he was ever yours.  He was my best friend, and he was my boyfriend.  Maybe that was just a joke to him, and Lip too, but it was real for me.  And you knew that!  You always fucking knew it!  And you just came along and took him away from me anyway.  It was so easy for you, and you didn't even want him!”

Mickey clenched his fingers so tight around the Budweiser bottle he was holding that it threatened to crack.  “You have no fucking idea what you are talking about.  You don’t know how I felt!”

“I know how it looked to me.  I know how it looked to _him_!”  Mandy was merciless now.  She whirled away from Mickey, but the words were still spilling out, dropping like coins from a jackpot hitting slot machine.  "I hated listening to him talk about this worthless piece of shit he was so starry eyed over who wouldn't even talk to him in public.  You walked away and broke his heart again and again, when I would have sold my soul to be that important to someone!"   

She laughed breathlessly at this, no real mirth in her tone.  "And when I found out it had been you all along, I didn't know what to do with all that hate.  So I just - stuffed it, I guess.  I tried to understand how hard it was for you.  And when you finally got your shit together, I wanted so bad to just be happy for you both, but all I could see whenever you touched each other is something else that I will never, ever have!"  Her voice rose and broke.

Instinctively, Mickey reached for her but she backed away.  

"Mandy, you don't fucking know that.  You're eighteen years old.  You've got time!  What makes you think there's not someone out there for you?"

The utter despair in her laughter pierced him sharply.  "Me?   _Mandy Skankovich?_  Who could ever love me like Ian loves you, or the way Lip loved Karen, or even the way your fucking hooker wife loves Geno?"  Finally, she looked at him again.  "I just wanted one moment where Ian was mine again.  One moment where I could pretend."

"Jesus...Mandy,"  Mickey turned away from her, bracing himself on the counter.  "What the fuck do you want from me?  An apology?  For trying to be happy?"  he turned back to her.  "So you wanted him to be yours again.  Congratulations, you've got him all to yourself now."

"Mickey..."  It was just a whisper this time.  

"I don't need to hear any more of this,"  Mickey grabbed his beer, turned, and hurled it into the sink.  Mandy jumped as it shattered into a hundred pieces, scattering stinking brown foam in all directions.  

"Mickey, wait!"  

He shook her off as she tried to grab his arm.  "Get away from me!"

"Mickey!"  It was the tone of her cry that forced him to look back at her.  

"Please..." she whispered, and her face crumpled.  "I'm so sorry."

It was his turn to laugh bitterly.  "Yeah, I can tell by the way you just tried to blame it all on me."

"Please..." she said again, and now he could hear her breaking, see it in her face, so clearly that he almost could see the cracks.  "I can't lose anyone else.  I can't lose you.  You're all I have now.   _Please_."

He tried hard to keep his face cold and impassive, but she was melting onto the kitchen floor, staring up at him as if he were manning the last lifeboat thrown off the Titanic and she was clawing for his lifeline.  

“You want me to beg for forgiveness?  Is that what you need?”  She was on her knees now in front of him.  “I wasn’t trying to blame you.  I know the way I think is fucked up.  Everything I do is fucked,”  Mandy wrapped her arms around herself, and he could see the tremors that were rampaging her.  “It just hurts.  All the time.  Everything hurts.  All I know how to do is make everyone around me hurt too,”  she was sobbing now, and he’d never heard her cry like that, not even the night their mother died, anguished, animalistic sounds tearing out of her.

"Get up," he bit out as he watched her dissolve even further. "C'mon Mandy.  Get up.  Get the fuck up!"

Her hands were over her head now, burying her face in her lap, and she was rocking back and forth, gasping for breath in between sobs, and he knew she couldn’t hear him.   

"Dammit, Mandy..."  Mickey hands were clenched, as they so often were, into fists.  He wanted to hit something, fight her demons, fight his, make it all stop and go away the only way he knew how.

But there was nothing left to fight.  

There was only him.  Only her.  And they were both broken just the same.

“OK,” Mickey sank onto the floor next to his sister, and after a moment’s hesitation, he dragged her into him.  For a second, she resisted, and then she turned her wet face and buried it against his shoulder.  For a second he hesitated, then he wrapped both arms around her.  She was shaking violently, reminding him of the night Svetlana had crawled into his bed in a similar state.

"Goddammit, Mandy,"  he whispered into her hair.  "You want to know who loves you?  Who will forgive you for anything, no matter what? _Me_ , you fucking idiot.  You got me.  I’m not going anywhere."

Her shoulders spasmed at that, and he couldn't tell whether she was laughing or crying harder.  He sighed.  "C’mon.  Chill the fuck out.”

Mandy lifted her head then.  Her face was streaked with tears.  “Mickey,” she whispered.  “I really am sorry.  What I did - you didn’t deserve that.  I just...I don’t know how to make it right.”

“You can’t make it right,” the words were said without malice.  “No take backs.  What’s done is done,” he looked at her.  “I forgive you.  Seriously.  I know you weren’t in your right mind.  You haven’t been for a while, and it’s got fuck all to do with whatever drugs you took.  I’ve been there, and I get it, OK?  I know you didn’t set out to fuck me over.  The thing is -” he stopped, rubbing his face.  “I fucking have feelings, Mandy.  Just because I don’t talk about touchy-feely shit, or blubber all over people’s shirts - “ he looked down at his black t-shirt, soggy with tears and snot, “doesn’t mean that I don’t feel anything.  It doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me.  And you did.  You really fucking did.”

“I know.  I know I did,”  Hesitantly, Mandy touched his face.  “I’m so -”

“Don’t say it again,”  Mickey shook his head.  “Sorry doesn’t do shit for me, Mandy.  What I want from you,” gently he pushed her away and stood up, then reached down a hand to pull her to her feet.  “Is for you to get your shit together.  Because…” he paused again, remembering Fiona’s words to him earlier today, remembering what Ian had said to him weeks ago.  “I need you.   I need you in this with me.  If we’re going to make this work, I gotta know that you have my back; that I can trust you.  And if you can’t do that, then I need you to get the fuck out.”  

Mandy flinched at his words, but Mickey reached out and touched her chin, forcing her to look at him.  “I already got two siblings that would stab me in the back as quick as look at me.  I don’t need a third.  I don’t want to do this alone, but I will if I have to.”

“Mickey…”  Hesitantly, Mandy reached for his hand.  “You’re not alone.  You got me.  I’m not going anywhere,” she echoed his previous words.  “I promise.”

He actually managed to smile at that, squeezing her fingers in his.  “OK, then.  Can we please try to get some sleep before Geno the Great and Terrible summons us again?”

“Yeah,”  she pulled away from him, but she was smiling now through the tears.  “We’ll talk about this in the morning then?”

“Fuck no,” Mickey scratched his nose.  “I said what I gotta say.  I’m not draggin’ this shit out.”

“OK,”  Mandy turned to go towards her room, then turned back, hesitantly biting her lip.  “Mickey, about Ian…”

He closed his eyes.  “Don’t.  Just...don’t,”

She studied him for a long moment.  “Alright.  Goodnight, Mickey.”

He watched her go, then turned and headed towards his room, to sleep on his half of an empty bed.  Alone.

But not as alone as he had been when the day started.  And in a fucked up world like this one, that had to count for something.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep breath* This chapter wasn't hard to write; it kinda all just came rushing out, which is why I was able to deliver it so fast, but I don't think I've ever been as emotionally wiped by anything I've written. These Milkoviches will be the death of me.
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated!
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr: http://avalonia320.tumblr.com/


	16. Over The Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night at the Fairy Tail brings Mickey and Ian back together.

  

_Fucking Gallaghers._

Mickey was blaming all of them.  Not just Ian.  It was the whole jolly ‘we’re all in this together’ clan.   It had to be their influence.  He’d spent way too much time with all of them and now he was the world’s bitch because of it.

Like, since when had anyone fucking even dared to ask him for help?  Much less relied on him to deliver?  And even more insidious:  since when did he give in so easily to something as fucking lame as Kev’s puppy dog eyes when the other man had found himself swamped with a last minute liquor delivery and begged for assistance?

OK, yeah, he’d tried telling Kev his job was shilling pussy, not stocking bottles, but all it took was a few _‘But that’s what partners do, Mickey, they help each other’_ and _‘you don’t want me to be here all night, missing time with my baby girls, do you?  Girls with absentee fathers grow up to screw Frank and stream it live on the internet, you know…”_ and next thing he knew, he was unloading the fucking truck.

Mickey was in a thoroughly bad mood by the time they were done.  He rolled the last keg into the back storage room, stood it upright and slammed the door.  

“Thanks for all your help, Mickey!  I owe you one!”  Kev called from behind the bar where he was finishing up and giving Paco last minute instructions for the rest of the night.  Mickey scowled and flipped him the bird in return and his partner just laughed.  Clearly, he’d lost all street cred with Kev when he didn’t beat the shit out of him after Kev cleaned out his pockets at gunpoint.  Opportunity cost…

Mickey had picked a damn bad night to suddenly be all fucking considerate too.  He’d planned to bail from the Alibi early and catch his breath for an hour or two before he had to go to his second gig of the night, and now it was late enough that he barely would have time to run home, check in with Svetlana, and change his now sweat soaked clothes.

Mickey drove home as fast as he dared without risking getting pulled over, because there was nothing like nearly getting popped for murder to make one into a law abiding citizen (mostly), and ran up the stairs to his apartment.

He pushed open the door and froze at the sight before him.

Tony the Cop was sitting in the living room, on the new (to them, anyway) sofa hideaway that Fiona had dug up from fuck knows where, bouncing Geno on his knee.  Svetlana was sitting next to him, watching Tony with a bemused expression, as if he were some alien creature she was trying to figure out.

"We could take him to the zoo," Tony was telling her.  "He'd probably like that," he chucked Geno under the chin.  "Lions, tigers, and bears, right?  God, this kid is cute.  Or my niece is a few months older; we could arrange a playdate though I was kinda hoping to not have to introduce you to the family before you like me enough to not let them scare you off.  They're a little - overbearing."

"What the fuck is going on here?"  Mickey broke in, and the two of them looked up, startled.  Geno begun to squirm and fuss as he caught sight of Mickey.

Tony immediately bounced Geno more fervently, but the baby continued to fuss, his eyes locked on to Mickey.  

“Uh, I think he wants you,"  Tony mumbled, looking a little less than pleased.

Mickey was a little gratified by this, but pretty certain Tony was wrong.  Still, he walked closer anyway, looking down at the baby.  

Suddenly Geno held out his tiny arms impatiently, and Mickey blinked in surprise before he reached out and picked him up.  Geno quieted immediately, squirming around until he could twist his tiny neck to stare straight up at Mickey’s face and grinning so big that Mickey could see the one tooth that was starting to poke out of his reddened gums.

“Hey, kid,”  Mickey balanced the boy awkwardly against his chest and patted his tiny back before he handed him to Svetlana.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”  he asked her as she settled Geno in her arms, indicating Tony with a jerk of his head.

Tony cleared his throat, and Mickey swung back around to face him.  “I - came to see Svetlana,”  he straightened his shoulders and gave Mickey a defiant glance.  “I’d like to start seeing her,”  he blushed like a schoolboy now and Mickey rolled his eyes so hard he was pretty sure he saw his own brain matter.  “I mean, if that’s OK with her…”

Mickey gave Svetlana an astounded look before he locked eyes with Tony again.  “You’ve got a set of balls on you, walking up into my house and trying to date my fucking _wife_.”  

He was more than a little surprised when Tony uncurled from the couch and stood up, facing him.  “I didn’t think you mind, considering you have a _boyfriend_ of your own.”

“Check you out!  So you actually got a little bite to you after all,”  Mickey couldn’t help but laugh, even if he was half considering kicking Tony the Friendly Neighborhood Cop’s ass all over his apartment, partly just for his sheer nerve, and partly for making a reference to Ian that was a thousand pinpricks to the heart.

Tony started to say something else, but Mickey was looking at Svetlana now.  Fucking hell; what was she thinking? First Nika the crackhead klepto, and now she was bringing home a motherfucking cop right when the two of them had just dodged a murder rap by the skin of their fucking teeth.  God, did she know how to pick them or what?

Well, there’d be time enough to have that conversation later.  He had other things to do tonight.  He settled for shooting Tony a menacing glare.  “You two do whatever the fuck you want then, but keep this in mind.  I don’t give a shit about your uniform or your badge.  You fuck with her; I’ll fuck with you.”

Once again Tony surprised him, merely raising an eyebrow in return and folding his arms across his chest.  “I could say the same for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding -”  Mickey began and broke off in sudden realization.  Oh yeah; they’d fed Tony that bullshit story about a fight between them being responsible for the injuries they’d actually sustained that fateful day with Terry.

Now Tony clearly envisioned himself as Svetlana’s knight in state issued polyester.  Apparently he was ignoring that fact that in this imaginary scenario Svetlana had beaten the shit out of Mickey in return for her one lone bruise: clearly Tony hailed from the school of thought that you never hit a lady, even if she was taking your eye out with a corkscrew.   

“Whatever.  We’ll have to finish this little talk later ‘cuz I got a fag bash to get to,”  he looked at Svetlana.  “I’ll be back late.”

She nodded as Tony rubbed his brow with his fingers, looking bewildered.  “You have a what?”

“Fag bash. Big sausage fest.  Some anniversary thing at the Fairy Tail.  I’m working security,”  Mickey raised his eyebrows at Tony, daring him to say something but Tony seemed satisfied with this.  The other man sat back down on the couch, this time significantly closer to Svetlana, and picked up where he left off, sounding like he’d memorized the ‘local family attractions’ section of the newspaper as he rattled off possibilities.

Mickey hurried into his bedroom, grabbing a quick change of clothes from his dresser, and dressed as quickly as possible.  Tony’s unexpected presence was galling for more than one reason - he’d been kinda hoping to ask Svetlana if she wanted to come with him tonight.  He wasn’t exactly looking forward to facing a herd of bedazzled knob jockeys by himself.  It had been different when Ian had been there with him.

Of course, a lot of things had been different when Ian was around.

Well, fuck it - hell if he was going to ask her with Tony sitting right there…he supposed he could always call Mandy, who was due to be off work in an hour, but it was not like he needed anyone to think he couldn’t handle a flock of pansies on his own.

Svetlana eyed him critically when he came out of the bedroom, looking at the torn jeans and tank top he was wearing.  “Aren’t you supposed to dress up?”

“Fuck that,”  Mickey picked his wallet and cell phone off the counter, then grabbed his keys.  “I’m not there to mingle.  I’m sure they got some kind of security jacket anyway.”

Svetlana shrugged.  “I’ll leave dinner in the microwave for you.  Don’t forget it when you get home.”

“Thanks,”  Mickey shut the front door on Tony’s surprised look at this display of domesticity, squared his shoulders, and prepared to head over the rainbow.  

* * *

So, it turned out the Fairy Tail did have security jackets.  

“These were specially designed by Julio, specifically for tonight” Jeff, the head of security, smiled weakly as he tried to hand one to Mickey.  “He’s the owner’s boyfriend.”  

The other security guards shot each other pained looks at that.  There was about a dozen, far as Mickey could tell, all crowded into Jeff’s tiny office.  Most of them were already arrayed in Julio’s creation, and Mickey studied them in mute horror, refusing to take the jacket Jeff was trying to pass him.

The vest of the jacket was basic black, but the glittery, glow in the dark logo on the back made it bad enough.  Who could take anyone wearing a SECURITY jacket seriously when the word was scrawled in pink glitter?

Fine though.  He could live with that.  But the sleeves...Julio the Horrible, whoever the fuck he was, had a sick sense of humor and a sense of fashion right out of Liberace’s closet.  They were sequined, brilliantly covered rainbow stripes from shoulder to wrist, sparkling brilliant in the light.  Mickey could only imagine how they’d illuminate under the disco lights inside the club.

“No fucking way!”  he shoved the jacket back at Jeff.  “Reach out with that thing on your arm one more time and you’ll be drawing back a bloody stump.”

“But you have to!”  Jeff shook the jacket at him, and a few sequins came loose and fell onto the floor.  “It’s required for all security guards!  It makes it easy for patrons to see you,”  he smiled weakly again.

“It would make it easy for _astronauts_ to see us,”  Another guard muttered darkly, and there was a general disgruntled assent.

“Fuck this,”  Mickey shook his head.  “I’m outta here.”  This whole thing had been a bad idea from the start.  This Rainbow Brite costume was the just the cherry on the top of a ‘ _what the fuck were you thinking_ ’ sundae.

He started to shove past Jeff, but the other man jumped in his path, his face pleading.  “Oh God, please don’t quit.  We already don’t have enough bouncers.  I can’t have a repeat of last year’s Drag Off riot without enough security backup - the Madonna and Mariah impersonators nearly beat each other to death with stilettos.   Please!”  

Mickey studied Jeff’s desperate face and then snatched the jacket from his hand.  “Gimme that,”  he dug into his pocket, pulling out his switchblade and flicking it open.  There were general gasps and Jeff jumped back a good six feet.  Mickey ignored his alarm, using the blade to slice first one sleeve then the second off at the shoulder.  He threw the hideous rainbow scraps in the corner and slipped on the now sleeveless jacket.

“You can’t -”  Jeff started to object and then his eyes widened as he got a good look at Mickey’s bare, well muscled arms.  “Never mind.”

“Hey!”  A tall, broad black man stood up from where he’d been leaning against the desk, and Mickey recognized him immediately - he was the bouncer who’d nearly threw Mickey out the day he’d found Ian, the one he’d referred to as Shaft.  For a moment, he thought they were going to have a repeat of their first meeting, but Shaft’s eyes were speculative as he sized up the mutilated vest.  “Can I do that?”  

“No, Roger!”  Jeff snapped.  He went pale when the other man stepped up to him, looking down at him menacingly.  “Um...yes?”

The man grinned, then held out his hand for Mickey’s knife, shrugging his way out of his jacket.  A few quick slashes later, and his sleeves joined the discarded remains of Mickey’s on the floor.

“My turn!”  A cheerful looking guard with brown hair stepped up amidst the enthusiastic response of the others, but Jeff stopped them all with a withering glare.

“Absolutely not!  The rest of you, by virtue of _not_ being terrifying, get to wear this exactly as it was designed.  Now get the hell out of here and start working the floor.  Shoo!”  Jeff waved them all off and grumbling, the bouncers started filtering out of the office.

“Smooth move, Milkface,” Roger slapped Mickey on the back as they headed towards the already gathering crowd.

“It’s Milkovich,”  Mickey corrected, his eyes already sweeping the crowd apprehensively.

Roger laughed, and Mickey couldn’t help but notice the other man’s hand was lingering just a little too long on his back.  “Nah, I think I got it right, Casper.  You know, I owe you for getting me out of wearing that Elton John looking shit.  Maybe I can pay you back by buying you a drink sometime.”

Startled, Mickey looked at him, and Roger shot him a wink before he disappeared in the other direction, barking at a man who was trying to play grab ass with a server who was balancing a tray of cocktails.  

Before he could even collect his wits, a blond middle aged man with square yellow glasses who’d been walking past with a group of severe suited cronies did an abrupt about face, his eyes sweeping Mickey up and down.  “My, my, look at you!”  His eyes drifted over Mickey’s sleeveless arms, lingering on his knuckle tattoos before traveling back up to his face.  “Aren’t you quite the anti-stereotype!  I love it!  Edgy, masculine, in your face and unapologetic...young man, how do you feel about becoming the face of your generation’s gay rights movement?”

Jesus fucking Christ.  It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Things were not working out like Ian had planned.

OK, to say he’d actually planned anything was an over exaggeration.  He hadn’t actually done much these past few days except for lie on the couch, stare up at the ceiling, and relieve every single detail of his epic fuck ups over and over in excruciatingly minute detail.  

Abandoning his family and disappearing without a word.  Losing his shit in basic training, beating a fellow cadet nearly to death for trying to harass him in the shower, trying (and failing) to steal a chopper, dropping out of school...and Mickey.

 _Especially_ Mickey.

Leaving him.  Reuniting with him just to force him into a coming out revelation that nearly resulted in his father beating him to death, then leaving him again to retreat into the darkest recesses of his own mind.  Allowing Mickey to drag him out of the pit, prop him up and carry him along until he could walk on his own, only to reward Mickey’s loyalty by banging his sister.  

It was all he could think about.  Over and over Ian relived every second of it until all he wanted to do was scream and claw the guilt out of his heart and head.

It was all he could do not to give into it completely - let the cascading wade of depression submerge him completely and rock him into oblivion.  Instead, he battled to balance himself just above it, fingers skimming the surface.  He made himself get up, eat, shower, take his medication, help with the kids, make forced polite conversation with his family until it all became too much and he went back to the couch to stare upwards for hours once more.

Ian knew everyone was worried about him.  He was worried about himself, if he was being honest, but there hadn’t been anything he could grasp onto, nothing to make him care enough to do anything beyond the bare minimum that existing required.

At least not until he’d gotten the text on his phone, one of those auto mass messages:   **Don’t Forget:  Fairy Tail 10th Anniversary Party This Saturday!**  

He’d read it over and over, mind wandering back to a conversation that had surely taken place in another life, it felt so far away.  Remembering Mickey’s self conscious remarks about being hired to work security for a big one time event at Ian’s old stomping grounds.

It was enough, one little spark.  Enough to light the darkness he’d been living in.  Enough to get him on his feet, dressed in his nicest outfit, hair slicked back and shoes shined.

And now it was starting to look like it had all been a huge waste of time.  Ian had been at the Fairy Tail for nearly an hour now, struggling to make his way through the club that was more packed than he’d ever seen it, and Mickey was no where to be seen.

Having caught a glimpse of the eye blistering jackets that the bouncers were sporting, Ian wasn’t that surprised.  Even if Mickey had still planned on working tonight, he’d undoubtedly split the minute he saw that monstrosity.  

Still, sheer stubbornness had him finally sidle up to the bar when he’d gotten tired of having his ass grabbed and whispered offers in his ear every couple of feet.  They were carding tonight, but he knew the bartender, Davy, from his time dancing here.  Davy had slid over the shot to him with a wink.  Ian nursed it slowly.  All things in moderation - he’d learned that the hard way.

He’d just about decided to call it quits when a familiar voice shook him out of his glum reverie.

“Hey, twinkie, you deaf?  Either pony up the fucking I.D. or get the hell away from the alcohol!”  

Ian whirled around on his barstool and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw Mickey just feet away, yelling at a fair haired kid that had been hassling the bartender for a drink.  Cowed, the boy slunk away, followed almost instantly by a gray haired man in a business suit who’d been eyeing him intently.

“Sorry, Senior Discount, that kid’s completely sober so you got no chance at all!  Go flash your AARP card at someone who’s already been roofied, why don’t you?”  Mickey called after the older man, who flushed and sidled back into the shadows, leaving the teen to go on his way.

Ian slid off the barstool, blood roaring in his ears.  “Mickey,” he managed to get out.

Mickey whipped around, his eyes widening in shock.  “ _Ian_?  What the hell are you doing here?”  His eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Please tell me you’re not dancing.”

“No,”  Ian shook his head emphatically, using up the last of the breath he was holding on that little word.

Mickey’s eyes narrowed even more.  “What, then?  You got a date or something?”  His eyes darted around, looking for a companion, and Ian couldn’t deny the fact that he loved the edge of jealousy in Mickey’s tone.

“Come on, Mick, you know I came to see you,”  The words tumbled out in a rush.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Mickey’s expression at that.  Just as the other man opened his mouth to speak, his eyes widened at something behind Ian.

“Yoohoo!   _Miiiiickey_!”  A voice trilled overhead.

With a strangled curse, Mickey ducked down, angling himself so Ian’s tall frame blocked him from view.  “Fuck!  Don’t move!”

"What are you doing?" Ian demanded.

"Hiding, dumbshit, what does it look like?  Paul Bunyan over there has been looking to bury his axe in my ass all night.  Just hold still until he’s gone, alright?”

Ian turned to see a tall and very burly man with long, dark hair and an impeccable suit bearing down on him at full speed, looking around anxiously.  “Mickey?  I could have sworn I just saw him…”

With a grin, Ian deliberately stepped aside, revealing Mickey in full view, and the man’s face lit up in delight.

“There you are!  Oh, you are a hard one to pin down!”  

“Yeah, you can take that literally,”  Mickey snapped back.  “Now back the fuck off, will you?  I’m working here!”

“Exactly!”  The man beamed back.  “You’re on the clock, honey, and you have to be nice to me.  I’m a paying customer!”  His gaze drifted to Ian and stopped.  “Oh, darling!”  He stepped forward, holding out a pudgy hand for Ian to shake.  “I see why dear Mickey has been ditching me all night now,”  As he assessed Ian, his eyes widened.  “My goodness, I recognize you!  I’ve seen your picture!”

“What?”  Ian shot Mickey a startled look, but their companion didn’t give either one of them a chance to speak before he was going on again.

“So he found you at last!  Oh, you had him in a tizzy, you know.  Well, as crushed as I am to see that my sweet boo’s heart has already been claimed by another, who am I to stand in the path of true love?”  He sighed dramatically, eyelashes fluttering.  

“We’re not actually -”  Mickey started to interject, and Ian ignored the sinking of his heart to shoot him a significant look.  Mickey went immediately silent, obviously understanding that he didn’t want to clue his overeager suitor in on his currently available status.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten my manners!”  The big man was shaking Ian’s hand enthusiastically.  “My name is Scott.”

“Ian,”  he introduced himself in return, quickly releasing Scott’s clammy palm.  “So how do you know Mickey?”

Mickey shot Ian a murderous look, but he merely smirked in return.  There was a story behind this, and he just had to hear it.

“Oh, it’s the most amazing tale!”  Scott touched his heart with a hearty sigh.  “We ran into each other months ago at The White Swallow.  He was looking for you, in fact.  We only exchanged a few words, but I’ve never forgotten him. And just imagine how I felt tonight when the crowd parted like the Red Sea and there he was!  It’s fate, just like in that movie, Serendipity, don’t you think?”

“No, it’s not!”  Mickey burst out, looking horrified.

“You’ve seen that movie?”  Ian was smiling wider than ever now.

“What?  No!”  Mickey protested a little too quickly.

Scott was still beaming, looking between the two of them before his gaze settled on Ian again.  “I hope you don’t find me too forward, Ian -” (there was a loud snort from Mickey at this) “- but you are as pretty as a picture!  I can see why our boy is so sprung on you,” he sighed.  “Ah, it appears that I’m doomed to unrequited love once again.  I just can’t help myself - Grumpy Bear here makes my heart throb!”

Ian smothered his laughter at the look on Mickey’s face at these words.  He was pretty sure it wasn’t just Scott’s heart that was throbbing, the way he was eyeing Mickey up and down.

At the thought, Ian shifted uncomfortable, his pants suddenly feeling a little too tight.  Scott definitely wasn’t alone in the throbbing category, either.

Scott seemed completely immune to Mickey’s clear revulsion, or Ian’s sudden distraction.  “So now that we’ve all been properly introduced, I’m going to get us a table and buy you two a drink!  I just can’t wait to get to know you both better!”  Ignoring Mickey’s strangled protests, he placed a giant hand on both of their shoulders, and marched them through the crowd.

* * *

Two hours later, Ian had to admit that this was not exactly where he’d hoped the night would take him.  

He was sitting at a back booth in Fiona’s diner, watching a very drunk, loudly sobbing Scott drip tears into the fifth cup of coffee his sister had refilled in less than an hour.

“...then he said I took no pride in myself and he was ashamed of me!”  Scott lifted his head from where he’d been cradling it in his arms on the sticky table.  His blurry eyes streamed with tears as he gazed up at Ian.  “And he left!  Just like that!  Three years together, two of it in the condo that I paid for, and all it took one a gym membership and a nose job, again both of which _I_ paid for, and Caleb thinks he’s the hottest shit that ever strutted through Boy’s Town.  Without me he’d still be slinging burgers and sucking off his manager for overtime; that is, if his overlarge schnozz didn’t get in the way.  Caleb won’t even take my calls now; too busy fucking his personal trainer.”  Scott wiped his runny nose with one meaty hand and sniffled loudly.  “He did manage to ruin my credit and sleep with half my friends before he left.  I should be glad he’s gone, but the heart wants what the heart wants, you know?”  

Ian reached out and patted the other man’s hand automatically, throwing out a few generic, comforting comments, idly hoping he was saying the right thing.  It was awfully hard to concentrate on one word that Scott was saying:  all of Ian’s attention was focused on the other half of Scott’s captive audience.  Mickey was shoved into the booth next to him, his hip and leg smashed into Ian’s.  Every time he shifted restlessly, which was often, Ian’s overcharged nerve endings caught fire and adrenaline blazed through his veins.  He wanted nothing more than to touch Mickey, a simple hand clasp or fingers brushing a cheek, something to show he wasn’t alone in this frantic longing.

Mickey sighed loudly, and for a heart stopping second Ian thought maybe the other man was on the same page before Mickey leaned across the table towards Scott.  “Look, let’s just speed this up, OK?  Give me this asshole’s address.  I’ll go fuck up his face for you.  Maybe when he’s not so pretty, the other dude will drop him and he’ll go back to you, or you can just point and laugh.  Either way, you’re better off, right?”

“Oh, you’re so sweet!”  Scott sighed lustily and straightened up, taking a loud slurp of his coffee.  “No...I can’t.  No matter what he’s done, I still love him,”  he teared up all over again and Mickey groaned, shooting Ian a pained look.  He was twirling a fork in between his fingers with increasing agitation and Ian was pretty sure he was envisioning stabbing someone with it.

He stood up hastily, before violence via cutlery could ensue.  “Scott, let me get you a taxi.”

“Oh, thank you!”  Unsteadily, Scott hauled himself to his feet, clambering out of the booth.  “I don’t suppose you two want to join me for a nightcap back at my place?”  He eyed them both hopefully.

“Why, so you can be the meat in our manwich?  Hell the fuck no!”  Mickey was on his feet too, throwing a few dollars on the table.  

Scott didn’t seem too thrown by the rejection, turning to Ian.  “I need your number, love.  I throw little dinner parties every month or so, and I have to have you two at the next one.  There’s so many people I want to introduce you to!”  

Mickey shot Ian a ‘don’t you fucking dare’ look and that look alone was enough to get Ian to press his number into Scott’s cell.  He enjoyed Mickey’s resulting scowl even more.

“OK, OK, let’s get you home,”  Mickey stepped in between them, putting his hand on Scott’s arm and it was Ian’s turn to frown.  “C’mon, I’ll walk you outside.”  Without a backwards glance, he steered the unsteady man towards the entrance.

Suddenly afraid Mickey was going to disappear,  Ian hurried towards the register to pay for the coffee.  As he tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for change, Fiona joined him.  “It’s really nice to see you and Mickey together again,”  her eyes sparkled.  “Is this a good sign?”  

“I hope so,”  Ian answered, hurriedly stuffing his change in his pocket.  “I think I’m about to find out,” he shot a significant look at the door.

“Oh!”  Fiona stepped aside, clearing his path.  “Good luck!”  she called after him.

Much to Ian’s relief, Mickey was still there, standing on the sidewalk in front of the diner, watching the lights of Scott’s taxi disappear down the street.  He didn’t turn when Ian joined him.  Together, they stood in silence for a moment, and then by some mutual unspoken agreement, they began walking.

“Hey,”  Mickey broke the quiet after a minute, much to Ian’s relief.  He dug into his pocket and then held out a few bills.  “The manager at the club gave me a bonus for getting Scott out of there.  Guess the whole hysterical crying and then puking on the bar was turning people off.”

“No,”  Ian tried to push the money back.

“It’s your cut,”  Mickey insisted.  “If it’d been up to me, he’d still be face first in his own mess.  Give it to Fiona if you don’t want it.  Not like she’s raking it in working at that dump.”

Ian took the money, and his heart leapt when Mickey’s fingers brushed his.  “Thanks.”

“The guy said this could be a regular thing, me working there.”  Mickey said after another couple of minutes of awkward silence.

Ian raised his eyebrows.  “What about the Alibi?”

Mickey shrugged.  “I can do both.  It’d just be part time.  Not like I can turn down an extra paycheck, right?  Besides, might be nice to have some work that isn’t going to get me thrown in the can.”

They’d reached the street where their paths diverged - the Gallagher house lay in one direction, while the apartment they’d too briefly shared was in the other.  

"So..."  Mickey began and then trailed off.  He was looking away from Ian, shuffling his feet, and Ian knew he had just seconds before Mickey made some excuse to go.

"Mickey, I'm sorry," he blurted, no time to better ease into it.  "About what happened with Mandy, about everything.  You've got to believe me.  I never meant to hurt you.  I didn't mean any of it."

Mickey studied him for a long moment, hands shoved into his pockets.  "Yeah.  I know."

Ian blinked, unnerved by Mickey’s complacency, his calm demeanor.  Before he could say anything else, Mickey was speaking again.

"I found a box full of your old ROTC crap in the closet.  Looks like you were planning to trash it all."

Ian frowned, not sure where Mickey was going with this, and starting to feel pretty damn frustrated. _'I know?'_ Did Mickey really think that needed to be his sole contribution to this conversation?  

"Yeah, so?"  he asked impatiently.

"Well, I junked the brochures and magazines, everything that didn't seem important, but I kept all the other stuff, you know, the pictures and awards, shit like that.  You can come pick it up whenever."

Ian's heart sank near to the bottom of his shoes at that.  He didn't want Mickey to tell him to come pick up his stuff - he wanted Mickey to ask him to come home.  Tell him he missed him, he couldn’t go on without him, that life was just as empty for him as it had been for Ian.

"You can just throw it all out," Ian said dully, turning to pace the corner where he stood.

"No, I can't!"  Mickey burst out and Ian looked up in surprise.  "Come on, Ian!  That was years and years of your life, memories, friends - "

"And now it's nothing!" Ian cut him off.  "A lot of planning and dreaming that went to shit.   _Throw it out_."

"That's what you do with everything that doesn't work out the way you want it to, huh?  Cut it out, walk away, pretend it doesn't exist anymore, right?"

Ian stared at him.  “I’m not - I didn’t cut you out!”

“Oh yeah?  Didn't you split without a word the other night?”   Mickey raised his eyebrows, giving Ian a challenging look.

“But you told me - when I asked if I should leave -”

“Yeah, what did I say?”  Mickey stepped closer to him.  “I said I didn’t know.  I didn’t say pack your shit and break the news to me via fucking _text_.”

Ian’s shoulders slumped.  “I’m sorry.  I should have said something.”

“Oh, don’t worry.  I got your message loud and clear,”  Mickey turned away from him.

“Mickey, you’ve got it all wrong!”  Ian’s fingers clenched into his palms.  “I had to take some time - I wasn’t leaving _you_.  I wouldn’t just walk out on us like that!”

"Oh yeah?  That wasn't you getting on that bus out of town last year?"  Mickey turned around to face him once more and Ian flinched at his words.

Mickey sighed, his face gentling. "Look, I get why you left then.  I didn't give you a lot of reason to stick around."  He kicked a few pebbles idly before he looked at Ian once more.  “The thing is, I can’t handle being left behind anymore, Ian.”

“I’m not going anywhere!”  Ian threw out the words, lacing them with every bit of sincerity that he possessed, but Mickey’s face was resolute.

“Really?  Because when I walked in on you and Mandy, it felt an awful lot like you catching that bus all over again.”

Ian shook his head frantically.  “No, Mickey - come on!  You know we were -”

“High, yeah,”  Mickey nodded.  “And why the fuck would you do that, Ian?  You knew what that could do to you!  You fought so fucking hard to get better, and then you do something that just throws you so far out of my reach.  Don’t you fucking tell me there wasn’t some part of you that didn’t know that!”

“Please, Mickey…”  Ian started to reach for him and Mickey moved back, out of his reach.  The anger had drained out of his features as he stared back at Ian, leaving nothing but resignation.

“I can’t, Ian.  I’m sorry.  I can’t keep trying to hold onto you so you don’t disappear.  It just - it hurts too fucking much.”

“So you’re walking away before I do,”  Ian couldn’t mask the bitterness.  

“I’m not going anywhere,”  Mickey spread his arms out.  “I’m going to be right here.  If you need me, I’ll come.  But I can’t make my whole life about you anymore, not when I never know where your head’s at.  Not when you make me feel like I gotta squeeze so tightly I’m going to suffocate you.”

“Mickey, I can’t make it without you,”  Ian didn’t even bother to try to blink back the tears.  “You’re everything to me.  You’re all I have.”

Mickey took a shaky breath, and Ian could see the tears starting to gather in his eyes too.  “I can’t just be what you cling to because you don’t have anything else.”

“Please don’t do this,”  Ian closed his eyes, feeling the tears splash between his lashes.

“Ian, hey,”  Mickey stepped forward, putting his hands on Ian’s face.  “Look at me.  You don’t need me, OK?  Not the way you think you do," he held on tighter as Ian tried to pull away.  “Listen to me!  You can do this.  Not me, not Fiona, not Lip.   _You’ve_ got this.  So get up off the fucking couch.  Start dreaming again.  Figure out what you want out of life, and make it happen.”

Ian was shaking his head again.  “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.  And you will,”  Mickey dropped his hands and stepped away.  “I believe in you, Gallagher.”

Ian stared at him wordlessly, the seconds ticking by excruciatingly as he searched Mickey’s face for a way to believe this wasn’t happening, for any scrap of hope that what Mickey was saying wasn’t what he meant.

Then he was grabbing him, pulling him forward.  Mickey went easily, not resisting as Ian had expected.  He pulled Mickey into him, grabbed his face and kissed him hard.  

Mickey didn’t fight it; no, he fucking melted into it.  His hands caressed Ian’s skin right back, wrapping around his neck and pulling Ian even closer.  

They stayed like that, locked together until Ian had no breath left in his body and still, he wanted it to go and on, didn’t want to pull away even as he grew dizzy, wanting to keep tasting Mickey on his tongue forever.

Finally, Mickey was the one who pulled away.  “I, um…”  he studied Ian for a long moment, looking as though he were trying to memorize him.  “I gotta go.”

“Yeah,”  Ian wanted to argue, but there was something irrevocable in Mickey’s expression, in the words that had passed between them.  “Me too.”

Mickey nodded.  He turned and began to stride down the street.  Ian stood there, watching, until his figure was barely visible in the distance and then he turned and walked the opposite way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you throw things at me, there's still a few chapters to go. A lot could happen...
> 
> This fic is starting to wind down; I think we've got about four chapters to go. I'm going to be both extremely happy and very sad to finish it.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting; it has really kept me going! As always, feedback is appreciated.


	17. Untogether - Ian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian struggles to move forward without Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments I've received so far! It is so thrilling and greatly appreciated!
> 
> OK, so this chapter is broken into two parts, Ian and Mickey's. I'd originally wanted to include them both together but the chapter keeps getting longer and longer, so I've decided to split it. Good news is Mickey's half should be up tomorrow. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you for reading; feedback always appreciated!

Ian was doing fairly well, all things considering.

OK, so he’d spent the last few days in a gloomy and ever ripening haze, buried under blankets on the couch of his family’s home, but he was still breathing.  On occasion he managed to rise and do a fairly accurate Walking Dead impression, stumbling towards the bathroom or kitchen,  grunting out responses to anxious inquiries on his way.  He’d even gone into to work - once - but he’d only been there an hour, slumped over the counter and staring at nothing before Linda told him to get the fuck out and come back when he didn’t smell like gorilla ass.  Ian hadn’t even mustered up enough energy to ask her when she’d become intimately acquainted with the scent of primate hindquarters, just shuffled home in defeat and gone right back to sleep.

It wasn’t exactly what you’d call living.  But for a guy who’d had his heart torn out on the corner of Ogden and St. Louis, it was as good as one could expect, as far as he was concerned.

There wasn’t any indication that this day would be different.  Ian had woken sometime before dawn, snuck into the kitchen to eat a couple of aging pickles out of the jar, drink half a beer and went right back to bed.  With any luck, he’d be out until at least early afternoon.

These plans were abruptly upended far earlier than he would have liked.  Ian was awakened abruptly by a firm shaking.  Grunting in protest, he forced open bleary eyes to see Fiona bent over him.  “Time to get up, Ian.  Breakfast’s on the counter.”

“Not hungry,” he mumbled, starting to roll over, pulling his blanket over his face.

Abruptly, Fiona yanked the blanket off of him, tossing it away from her on the floor.

“What the f - “  he started to protest but her eyes flashed angrily down at him.  

“You are getting up, and you are eating.  NOW!”  she pointed towards the kitchen.  

He glared right back at her, but when it became clear that she wasn’t going to leave him alone, he stood up, stomping towards the kitchen.  To his surprise, it was empty except for his own plate of eggs, toaster waffles, and sausage, waiting on the counter.  

Fiona was right behind him, bending over to pour him some orange juice as he slumped down into the stool and took a few reluctant bites.

“When you’re done, I want you to shower and dress,” she pushed the glass towards him.  Her expression was wary as she hazarded a glance at his face.  “I made an appointment for you at the clinic.  We have to be there at ten.”

“What?  NO!”  Ian stood up so abruptly that his juice sloshed onto the counter.  “I don’t need to - Fiona, what the fuck are you trying to pull?  I’ve been doing everything I’m supposed to do!  I’m working -”  he conveniently ignored how loose of a interpretation of ‘working’ that was,  “ - I’m taking my medication, look, I’m eating -”  to prove it, he took a giant bite of sausage and ended up choking slightly.

Fiona took advantage of his need to clear his airway to speak again.  “Ian, I know.  I just think -”  she hesitated, clearly struggling for the right words.  “Maybe we need to look at adjusting your dosages again.”

“I don’t -!”  he broke off in frustrated fury, closing his eyes before he lost what little remained of his self control.  “You can’t keep doing this!  You can’t just blame everything I’m going through on the defective wiring in my brain!”

She looked confused at this, and he continued before she could interrupt.  “I’m depressed, Fiona, OK?”

“I know,”  Sympathy was wreathed all over her face.  “And that’s why I think -”

“You’re not listening!”  he slammed his hands down on the counter.  “I’m fucking depressed!  Look at me!  Mickey dumped me.  I think I fucked up things with my best friend for good. I miss Geno and Svetlana.  I’m back at home doing absolutely nothing with my life.  It’s fucking depressing!  How is another pill going to change that, Fiona?  Tell me!”

Fiona sighed.  “OK,”  she slid onto a stool and patted the one he’d abandoned, waiting.

After a moment, he sat back down, tension still holding him rigid, prepared for battle.

“OK,” she said again.  “You’re right.  We can’t blame everything you’re going through on being bi-polar.  You’re allowed to have feelings.”

Ian exhaled noisily.  “OK then.  So -”  he started to get up, and Fiona put a firm hand on his arm.

“Ian, listen to me.  I know why you’re down.  Whether you have reasons to be depressed doesn’t mean we can ignore where it can lead.  Come on, you know this.  You heard the doctor telling us about triggers and cycles and highs and lows…”

Ian clenched his jaw angrily, his chin jutting out.  “Yeah, I know all that.  That’s why I’ve been getting out of bed every day, that’s why I’ve been taking my pills like a good little boy, and that’s why I don’t need to go back to the doctor!  I’m just a little down right now, that’s all! I’m not Mon -”

“I know you’re not Monica!”  Fiona jumped back up off the stool and Ian was startled by her fierce expression.  “I get it, OK?”  she dropped her hands then.  “Ian, I’m so sorry I dropped the ball with you.  I was so blind to what was going on with you, for years.  Everyone else just screamed so loud and you were so quiet.  I didn’t -”  she swallowed, and Ian saw the tears gathering in her eyes.  He started to speak but she waved him off.  “No.  I’m going to say it.  I let you down.  It was my job to notice.  I was supposed to pay attention, and I didn’t.  I let you slip so far away that we almost didn’t get you back.”

 Her voice was cracked but determined as she leaned forward,  “But my eyes are open now, Ian, and I see you.  You are not doing well, and we’re not going to pretend that it’s all going to work itself out.  I’m not letting you go again.  So you are going to eat your goddamn breakfast, and then you’re going to the clinic, or I swear to God, I will call Mickey to help me club you over the head and drag you there.”

“Fiona,”  Ian started but she gave him a blistering glance, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“That doesn’t sound like a yes,”  her finger hovered ominously over the keypad.  “You know he’ll come.  Maybe that’s what you want.  But Mickey shouldn’t have to save you again, Ian.  This is something you need to do for yourself,”  her face softened as she saw his stricken expression.  “It’s just a check up, a talk to figure out what’s working and what’s not.  Nobody’s going to force you into anything you don’t want to do.”

Ian locked his fingers behind his head, staring at the counter.  “A talk with Petersen, that doctor that hated Mickey?  The one that talked you and Lip into threatening to hospitalize me if I didn’t come home?”

Fiona sighed.   “No, it’s not him - I asked them to refer us to a different doctor.  Look, I’m trying here.  Can you meet me halfway, please?”

Ian continued to stare at the counter for a long moment, then finally he nodded.  “Yeah.  OK.  I’ll go.”

Fiona blinked rapidly at that.  “Good,” she whispered.

Ian bit his lip, his angry retort washed away by the look on her face.  “Hey, where is everybody?”  he asked instead, surprised they hadn’t been interrupted by one of the kids, or Sheila wanting to help with breakfast, or at the very least Lip, who could never resist adding his two dollars, rate adjusted for inflation, into any conversation.

“I sent them out for breakfast,”  Fiona admitted, looking slightly guilty now.  “I was kinda afraid it was going to get ugly.”

“Yeah,”  Ian rubbed his eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he admitted after a moment.  “That you’re stuck taking care of me again.  And I wasn’t here when you needed me either.  Maybe it would have been different - with Liam, with your job, if you hadn’t had to do it all by yourself.”

“Come on, Ian,”  Fiona moved closer to him, rubbing his arms affectionately.  “You know what?  How about we not do this to each other, or ourselves?  Let’s just fall on the tried and true Gallagher tradition of blaming our parents.  Alright?”

Ian actually managed to smile at that.  “Fucking Frank,” he offered, and Fiona grinned.

“Fucking Monica,” she responded

He put his hand over his sister’s and squeezed back.  “Thanks,”  he told her.  “For everything.”

She blinked rapidly at that, and then waved her hands at him.  “Hell no, you are not making me cry right now.  I think my eyes are watering more from your stench, by the way.  Go take a shower and let’s get out of here.”  

She waved him away, and he went quickly, knowing it was kinder to pretend he didn’t see the tears she couldn’t hold back anymore, spilling down her cheeks.

He held his own in check until he was safely under the shower’s spray.

* * *

 

Two hours later Ian sat on a generously overstuffed chair in a tiny office, feeling slightly out of breath, as if he’d run up a flight of stairs.  

Across from him sat a short, gray haired woman with  severely blunt bangs and a chin length bob, surveying him calmly.  Dr. Flo Waterman.  Ian had known he was going to like her from the moment he’d told her who his previous doctor was and she’d grimaced and said, “Christ Almighty, that quack?”  She’d earned immediate bonus points when she’d greeted Fiona kindly and then firmly insisted that his sister stay in the waiting room while she and Ian talked.  Fiona may not have been thrilled, but Ian was beyond grateful.  It was quite a difference from the last few times he’d been here, when Dr. Petersen deferred to Lip and Fiona in all things and talked above Ian’s head like he wasn’t even present.

But still, he hadn’t anticipated that Dr. Waterman would ask one question, “Why are you here?”  and he’d crack open, letting it all overflow like Niagara Falls.  He’d been spilling his guts for the last forty-five minutes, telling her everything, from his cocked up scheme to join the military to get over Mickey, to everything that had happened in basic and his subsequent meltdown, the weeks in a lost haze with Monica, the endless parade of strangers’ hands and bills and pills....  It all circled back to Mickey again, the way every path in his life seemed to, and he was laying it all on her, everything that that had gone down between them, ending with their last confrontation.

She’d stopped writing notes about halfway though, instead leaning back on her chair to study him over her square glasses, never interrupting, just letting the endless stream of words flow.  

He was silent now, feeling like a glass that had slowly been emptied, shifting uncomfortably as she looked him over.  Wishing she would say something.

Finally Dr. Waterman sat down her notebook, and cracked open the window next to her, letting steaming hot air waft under the window sill.  As Ian watched, she pulled extracted a skinny brown cigarette from behind a stack of books, and lit it with a lighter she’d extracted from her pocket, blowing the smoke out of the window.  

“I know; physician heal thyself, right?”  she snorted as he stared.  “I needed a cigarette after listening to that rather epic tale of self sabotage,”  she took one more long drag, and stubbed the cigarette out on her side table before tossing it behind the books once again. Then she turned back to him.  “I’ll bet it felt good to get that out, didn’t it?”

Ian nodded reluctantly, even as he tapped one foot impatiently.  “But what should I do?”  

Dr. Waterman chuckled drily.  “Patience, Ian.  You didn’t get to this point overnight.  You’re not going to get away from that easily, either.  We’ve got a lot to talk about, you and I, and we’re going to.”  

With that, she picked up her prescription pad and scribbled on it.  “Let’s start small and go from there.  We’re going to make some minor adjustments to your medications, nothing major, see if it helps you manage the lows a little more evenly,”  she tore off the sheet and handed it to him, before writing on another.  “I also want you to start taking vitamins and take care of yourself.   Eight hours of sleep a night - don’t stay up for days at a time, and don’t sleep all day either.  Go for a jog every morning.  Lay off the caffeine and alcohol, and don’t drop any more acid,”  she quirked an eyebrow at him as she handed him the second sheet.  “And last but not least…”  she looked around her for a moment before she picked up an open notebook with scribbled writing and tore out the used page before handing it to him.  “Nothing fancy, but it will do you.  I want you to start writing.  Stop keeping it all bottled up.  And for this week, I’m going to give you an assignment.  I want you to give yourself one goal.  I don’t care how big or small it is, but you pick one thing that’s going to give you a reason to get off the couch.  We’ll discuss it next week.”

“Next week?”  Ian frowned as he took the notebook from her.

Dr. Waterman nodded.  “I want to see you regularly for a while,”  she studied his frown.  “You’re a little borderline right now, Ian, and you know this.  I don’t think anything else would have gotten you through my door.  When you’re on more stable ground, we’ll scale it back.”  

“Yeah, but I don’t have health insurance,” he admitted.  “I can’t afford -”

“Twenty dollars a session, providing you come in after five o’clock,”  Dr. Waterman interrupted.  “That’s when the office staff goes home and I can get away with giving my special patient sliding scale.”  She winked at him and then her face sobered at his downcast expression.  “Ian, it may not seem like it, but you’ve made a huge step just by coming here.  You’ll get there.  Cut yourself some slack.  Rome was not built in a day.”  she patted his arm.

Ian left Dr. Waterman spraying air freshener in another attempt to cloak her illicit smoking and went to the waiting room to find Fiona walking in impatient circles and looking at the clock.  She broke into a relieved smile when she saw him.  “Everything OK?”  

“Yeah,”  Ian nodded towards the door, ignoring her curious glance at the papers and notebook he was holding.  “Let’s get out of here.”

He tried to ignore Fiona’s half worried, half hopeful glances as they walked towards the bus stop until he couldn’t stand it anymore.  “New doc is pretty decent.  I’m going to see her next week.  I think it will help”

“Good!  And…?”  Fiona hinted, giving him a significant glance.

“And what?”  

“I was right,”  Fiona smiled widely.  “Admit it.  I was _right_.”  

Ian snorted.  “No way,”  he snickered at her crestfallen expression.  “Not going to happen.”

“Oh, come on!”  Fiona nudged his shoulder hard.  “It’s been a long time for me.  I want to revel in the moment.”

“Fine,”  Ian sighed exaggeratedly.  “You were right.”

“And don’t you forget it!”  Fiona nudged him again, making him stumble, laughing when he did the same thing to her, and they took turns pushing each other out of place and laughing all the way to the bus stop.

* * *

Ian had been back home, sitting at the kitchen counter, for over two hours.  Even though the rest family was back home, it was still surprisingly quiet.  No one had come into the kitchen since he’d been back, and it couldn’t have been clearer that everyone was avoiding him, even Carl and Debbie.  He tried not to let it hurt his feelings; it wasn’t like he’d been Mr. Social lately.  At least he’d showered.

He rubbed his forehead, sighing loudly, and looked back at the notebook in front of him.  All this time, and his progress was limited to one word.  GOAL.  The empty page mocked him.

Ian took a deep breath, uncapping his pen for the umpteenth time.  But all he could think of was the same few things:  Get Mickey back.  Grovel in order to get Mickey back.  Walk over hot coals.  Kneel on broken glass.  Shamelessly beg, with a side of tears if it seemed necessary.

Jesus, could he be more pathetic?  No wonder Mickey didn’t want anything to do with him.  Angrily, he shoved the notebook away, just as Frank walked in.  Great.  Just the person he wanted to see.

Frank shuffled past him, heading over to the fridge where he pulled out the boxed wine, and then went over to the counter to pour himself a glass.  It took him several long seconds to notice Ian sitting there.

“What the hell are you doing here?”  he asked as he filled his glass.

Ian rolled his eyes.  “I’ve been here for days, Frank.”

Frank snorted.  “Got tired of living the thug life with Mickey Milkovich, huh?”  he studied Ian’s expression as he drank and his lips lifted in amusement.  “Oh...he kicked you out, is that it?  Well, understandable, I suppose.   Kid’s made his preference for dick pretty clear and you’re all pussy these days,”  he laughed, clearly impressed by his own wit.  

Ian gritted his teeth at that.  Don’t engage, he told himself.  Otherwise, he’ll never shut the fuck up.  To his relief, Frank was turning back towards the living room, still clutching his drink.  

Just as he passed, Ian saw his eyes land on Ian’s notebook.  Before he could slap it closed Frank’s eyes lit on the word goal at the top of the page, and he let out a mocking guffaw.  "Goals?  Those drug peddling thought-nazis really have you drinking their koolaid, don't they?  Let me give you some advice, son -"

"I'm not your son,"  Ian interrupted.

Frank snorted, leaning against the counter.  “Accident of biology.  I’m still your father.  You should be grateful it worked out this way, really.  Clayton couldn’t have handled a son like you.”

Ian had to suck in a long breath to rein in his temper.  God, there was no one like his father for tapdancing on every bit of self-control he had.  “Why, because I’m a headcase?”

Frank looked surprised.  “I was going to say because you’re _gay_ , which, as you’ll recall, I have intimate experience with.  Clayton would have shipped you off to Camp GayAway the first time you watched High School Musical three times in a row.  You’re lucky your father knows the struggle.”  

“Oh, jesus…”  Ian tried to turn away, but Frank was off and running.

“Now let me tell you about this headcase thing.  These doctors...overpaid lackeys of the system, more like, want to put us all into these little boxes, with terms like ‘narcissitic personality disorder’ or ‘bi-polar’.  I’m going to tell you what the real deal is -”

“No, wait, allow me,”  Ian stood up.  “Let me guess.  Forget labels and do whatever you want, right?  I should make it all about me.  Forget any sense of personal responsibility or moral obligation.  Throw out my meds, walk out on my family, and go where the wind takes me, screwing over everyone I meet, and leaving a trail of bodies behind me.  Live life to the fullest and who cares who you destroy doing it.  Like father, like son, right?  Good advice, Dad.  I’ll get right on that.”

Frank was frowning now, swirling the wine in his cup.  “I wasn’t going to put it quite like that…”

“Whatever,”  Ian picked up his notebook and started to move past him, then stopped.  “You know, in the interest of a little give and take, let me lay a little truth on you, Frank.  You’re dying.”

Frank laughed at that, shaking his head.  “Please.  That was so last season,”  he waved Ian away dismissively.

“No, that’s right now,”  Ian gave him a long look.  “Notice the way your hands shake and you’re short of breath?  The way your eyes and skin are turning yellow?  You’re poisoning your new liver, and it’s turning on you.  It’s just a matter of time.  Did you know that Fiona’s already started hoarding money from the squirrel fund to pay for your cremation?”  he smiled coldly at the look on Frank’s face.  “You have been given so much, and you’ve just thrown it away.  Every single one of your kids is a fucking gift that you’ve had your head too far up your own ass to appreciate.  Then you get this miracle, this second chance of life that some other poor fucker who actually deserved it missed out on, and you spit on it.  Didn’t you think it all might come back to bite you in the ass someday?”

Frank’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.  He looked suddenly vulnerable, far older, as if each of Ian’s words had aged him another year.  Ian felt the tiniest frisson of pity for him, and it annoyed him to no end.  Still, it prompted him to speak again.  “Maybe it’s not too late.  You stop drinking now, give all that medication they got you on a chance to work, and maybe you can still make it.  Would be nice if you tried.  Debbie and Carl might be sad to see you go.”

“But you wouldn’t be,”  Frank muttered.

Ian raised his eyebrows, thinking for a moment.  “When I was little, I used to pretend that you could be different.  That you might turn it all around, show up, give a shit, ask me how my day was or help me with my homework, remember my birthday…  I gave up on that years ago.  But as long as you’re breathing, there’s still this hope that there’s some part of you that cares,  some tiny bit of soul you’ve got buried deep down that will worm its way out someday.  And if you die, I guess I’d be sad to lose that possibility.  But would I care that you were gone?  No.  You’ve never given me anything to miss.”  

“Fuck you,”  If Frank had meant that retort defiantly, he’d failed dismally.  It came out more of a desperate whisper.

“Nice comeback,”  Ian shrugged.  “You know that sinking feeling you’ve got in the pit of your stomach?  It’s called regret.  Don’t worry.  I’m sure if you drink enough, it will go away.”  With that, he walked through the doorway, turning back to see Frank still staring at him.  “Thanks for the talk, Frank. It actually helped.”  

He walked into the living room, finding Lip seated on the couch, absorbed in a textbook for one of his summer courses.  He looked up as Ian sat down next to him.

Ian took a deep breath and plunged right in.  “Lip, I need your help.”

Lip sighed, closing his textbook.  He didn’t look as surprised as Ian had been expecting.  “Look, I can talk to Mickey if you want, but I don’t think it’s going -”

“No,”  Ian shook his head, ignoring the rapidly becoming familiar pain at the mention of Mickey’s name.  “That’s not it.  I want to go back to school.”

Lip stared at him for a moment, slightly open-mouthed, then he smiled brightly.  "I've been hoping you'd come around.  Already done some research for you.  Sit tight for a minute; I've got a bunch of stuff for you to look over."   With that, he jumped up and dashed upstairs.

Figured Lip would have it all planned out for him already.  Ian couldn't help but smile slightly at his brother's enthusiasm though.  At least one of them was excited.

But maybe he was though...excited, that is.  Maybe this was enough, this hope that he might actually have a future after all, something to put one foot in front of the other for.  A reason to get off the couch.

Ian dug his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts until he stopped at Mickey's name.  He didn't do more than that, didn't press the CALL button, didn't type a text.  He just traced his name over and over again with his fingertip.  God, it felt like he was a million miles away already, like it had been months and years and centuries since he'd seen him, heard his voice, touched him...

He could make something for himself.  A life without Mickey.  The idea was so painful that for a moment he wanted say fuck it all, throw his stupid list of goals into the trash, and disappear into the black that still beckoned him forward.  

And become what?  As worthless as that wreck of a man who sat in the kitchen right now swilling a cup of poison because it was an easier way to cop out then to face the wasteland of his life?  No.  No way.  He wasn't a quitter.

Maybe he wasn't the only one who needed to be reminded of that.

 

 


	18. Untogether - Mickey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as the Milkovich household adds two new members, Mickey can only think of the person who's missing.

“STUPID FUCKING IDIOT!”

Mickey barely ducked in time.  The salt shaker that had been launched at his head glanced off the wall behind him and crashed to the floor, exploding into a white crystalline cloud.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”  he demanded.

Across the kitchen, Svetlana glared at him ferociously, breathing heavily.  He eyed her warily, glad that she wasn’t standing next to the butcher block where their knives resided.

Mickey wasn’t quite sure how things had gone so wrong. OK, so yeah...he’d spent these last few days avoiding telling her that he and Ian had broken up, until she’d finally cornered him a few minutes ago and demanded to know when Ian was coming back.  Fucking hell, he’d had one moment where he thought she might be understanding, especially considering their newly found rapport.  Clearly he’d been barking up the wrong goddamn tree with that one.  

Especially since Mother Russia had absolutely lost her shit at his news, declared immediate war, and was now lobbing kitchen-counter missiles right at his most unfortunate head.

“What the fuck is it to you?”  he yelled back, retreating between the counter and the stove as she looked for something else to throw.  “You and Fiona are like BFF’s now, right?  You can go over there and see Ian whenever the fuck you want!”

“I don’t want to see him there!  I want him _here_ where he belongs!”  Svetlana picked up a box of macaroni and cheese and threw it at him.  “You were supposed to figure it out, not break up!  I want Geno to stop crying all the time.  I want Mandy to stop being so sad.  I want you to stop being... _you_!  I want everything to be the way it was!”

“Well, it can’t be!”  Mickey threw the words back at her, wishing he had something physical to toss instead, but the only thing he had handy was a roll of paper towels, whereas she had the whole fucking kitchen to case for arsenal.

“Why?”  Svetlana set down the bottle of Tabasco sauce she’d been about to fling at him.  She put her hands on her hips.  “Why can’t it?  Why can you just not go and get him?”

“Because I...because he has some…”  Mickey broke off, flustered.  He had thought he had known.  It had seemed so clear at the time; a torment almost beyond endurance, sure, but he’d been so convinced he was doing the right thing.  Ian didn’t need him.  He didn’t need _this_.  And Mickey didn’t need to be waiting every minute of every day for the other shoe to drop, for his tenuous hold to slip for one moment and Ian to disappear, leaving him wrecked forever.

“You do not even know,”  Svetlana spat, watching him stumble over his words.  “You’ve ruined everything just for your stupid pride!”  

Stung by that, he glowered violently at her.  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!  How is this any of your business anyway?”  he fired back at her.

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say, if the plate that went zooming past his ear was any indication.  “I’m your wife!”  she screamed at him as it hit the wall with an ear splitting crash.  “I should have a say in who you fuck!”

“You mean, like I got a say in you hooking up with a motherfucking cop?  Besides, I thought you hated dick!  You do realize Tony has one, right?  I mean, in theory…”  

Svetlana’s expression went purple with fury at that, and she turned to search the counter for something else to fling at him.  

Luckily, Mickey was saved when Geno began to wail from the other room, awakened by the noise.  Svetlana glared at Mickey accusingly.  “This is all your fault!”  

“ _My fault_?”  he snapped in disbelief even as she stomped away to tend to her son.  Fucking hell.  How was it that he’d managed to turn out fucking gay and still get stuck with a nagging bitch of a wife?  Clearly, he’d been right all along; the universe really did hate him.  

The sound of the front door opening was a welcome distraction.  He looked up to see Mandy.  “Hey, Mickey, give us a hand, would you?”  she was steadying Iggy, who was propped between her and his girlfriend, Tasha.  

Mickey leapt forward, and the three of them steered Iggy, who was propped up on a crutch and wincing with every step, towards the couch.  Once they’d gotten his older brother settled, he stepped back to survey the damage.

Iggy was still in terrible shape, his fading bruises standing out in vivid relief.  Stitches marred his skin, a long seam of them traveling from eyebrow to forehead and disappearing into his hairline.  Another smaller set travelled under his right eye.  One wrist was in a cast, and judging by the way he winced every time he took a deep breath, his broken ribs were far from healed.  The crutch was due to nerve damage from being kicked repeatedly; on Mickey’s last visit to the hospital before Iggy was released, the doctor told them it could be some time before Iggy was able to walk normally again, if at all.

The sound of a throat clearing shook him from his grim survey, and he looked up to see a blonde woman in a beige pantsuit and clutching a clipboard, had followed the trio into the apartment.  She was looking at her surroundings in obvious distaste, eyes lingering on the broken dishes littering the kitchen floor.

“Who the hell is this?”  he asked.

Tasha scowled.  “She’s from the insurance company,” she said shortly.

“Eileen Taver,”  the woman broke in.  She didn’t hold out a hand for Mickey to shake.  “I’m processing the medical claims for Mr. Milkovich.  I’m here to make sure the accommodations are conducive to his recovery.”  Her nose was wrinkled, as if she smelled something bad, and in all fairness considering what Mickey had seen before in the hallways of their building, she probably had.  “Where’s the bathroom?”  The woman asked abruptly.  Mickey nodded towards the back of the apartment and without another word, she disappeared in that direction.

“Fucking hag,”  Tasha snapped.  “She’s been hovering ever since Iggy’s first night in the hospital, nickeling and dime-ing every single thing.  She even tried telling the doctor they should cut back on his pain medication to save money.”

Mickey and Mandy exchanged disgusted looks.  Iggy had been the only Milkovich before Mandy to hold down a legitimate job, loading trucks in some warehouse, and he actually had health insurance, but damn, seemed like they were doing their level best to make it harder than shit to get anything covered.

Eileen Taver reappeared, her frown more pronounced then ever as she began writing on her clipboard.  “I’m sorry; this just won’t do.  It was nearly impossible for him to climb the two flights of steps just to get to the apartment, and your bathroom is absolutely not handicapped accessible.  He needs to be in a ground floor setting in an environment that’s equipped for his needs.”  

The three of them exchanged disbelieving looks.  “His insurance gonna pay for that then?”  Mickey demanded.

The woman flushed and bent over her clipboard again.  “Doesn’t he have any other family that could take him in?”

Mickey rolled his eyes.  “Sure.  He could go right back to the family homestead.  ‘Course, they probably haven’t washed his blood out of the carpet yet, but it’s all one level, so that’s ok, right?”

Eileen went even redder at that.  Mickey pointed towards the door.  “If you’re all done trying to come up with bullshit reasons to deny his claim, you can leave now.  Go be useless somewhere else.”  He threw open the door, and she hurried out, shooting a nervous glance at their hostile faces before disappearing down the hallway.

Mickey slammed it behind her and turned his attention back to his brother.  Tasha and Mandy had joined him on the couch, one on each side.  He watched Tasha take Iggy’s hand, winding her brown fingers through his pale ones.  Their eyes locked onto each other with a deep tenderness that took his breath away.  For one second, he wondered if he and Ian had ever looked like that to anyone else, and then forced the immediate razor sharp pain at the thought away.

“How you doing, Iggy?”  he threw himself down on the closest chair to them.

Iggy’s jaw was still wired shut, so his effort to grin back at Mickey was somewhat terrifying.  He could talk now though, though it was an effort, and the words were strained and hard to understand.  “OK.  Happy to be here,” his eyes were bright as he looked around the shabby apartment.

“Good, good…”  the words trailed off and Mickey shared a pained look with Mandy.  It couldn’t be more obvious that they were both on the exact same page, nearly drowning in guilt and shame when they looked at the damage their brother had suffered trying to protect them.

“Jesus…”  he wasn’t aware at first that he was speaking out loud.  “Iggy, you should have just fucking told him where we were.  We could have taken care of ourselves.”

Iggy’s smile faded, and his gaze locked onto Mickey.  “You wouldn’t have,”  his eyes turned to Mandy next.  “Neither one of you would have sold me out.  We’re family.  I got your back.”  

Lacking words to respond, Mickey reached out and grasped his brother’s undamaged hand.  Iggy squeezed his fingers back tightly before he pulled back.  “Alright, none of that faggy shit now,”  he pushed the words out between his clenched teeth, grinning, just as Svetlana came out of the bedroom, carrying Geno.  Iggy’s eyes lit up at the sight of his nephew.  “There’s Geno!  Come here, kid!”  

Svetlana cautiously set Geno on Iggy’s lap, and they watched as the baby assessed the uncle he hadn’t seen in weeks.  Iggy flashed that creepy all gums smile at him again, and Geno’s tiny eyebrows shot up in surprise.  After a moment, he seemed to judge Iggy a kindred spirit and grinned back at him.  Iggy beamed in return, bouncing Geno gently on his good leg.  Huh.  Mickey didn’t seem to remember Iggy being quite that into babies before.  Maybe it was one of those ‘life is beautiful, let me bask in everything’ kneejerk responses to nearly dying.  If so, life around there was sure to crush his optimism and bring him back to moping Milkovich status in no time.

“Thank you guys so much for letting him stay here,”  Tasha was speaking now.  “It won’t be for long.  I’ve been living with my sister to save up money, and I’ve got an application in on a unit in this housing complex in my old neighborhood.  Ground floor, of course,”  she rolled her eyes mockingly.  “Just waiting for the call.”

“There’s no rush,”  Mandy reassured her.

Tasha smiled at that.  “Actually, there is,”  her hand drifted to her stomach.  “I’d kinda like my baby daddy to be around full time by the time this kid’s baked.”

Mandy’s mouth dropped open.  “Oh my God!  You never said anything!”  she shot an accusing look at Iggy, who was beaming as wide as his wired jaw would allow, before jumping up to hug him.  “How far along?”

Mickey stood up, smiling, to give Iggy a congratulatory slap on the back.  

“Four months,”  Tasha was telling them.  “We’re finding out if it’s a boy or a girl in two weeks.  You guys should come!  It would be nice to have some family there,”  she reached out to playfully tickle Geno’s nose.  “If this kid is any indication of the family gene pool, my baby is going to be hella cute!”  

“Oh, hey,”  Mickey had caught sight of Iggy’s overstuffed duffel bag by the front door.  “Let me put this in the bedroom for you, or if you’re ready to lie down I can help you over there.”

Iggy looked confused at that.  “Isn’t that your room?”

Mickey shrugged.  “Couch opens into a bed.  Figured I’d sleep out here.  You’ll be more comfortable in there.”

“Fuck no, I ain’t taking your room!”  Iggy protested.  “Plus, we don’t need you and your boyfriend leaving ass juice all over the sofa.  Where is he, anyway?”  he looked around.

Mandy looked away as Mickey’s stomach clenched  “He’s not here anymore.”

Iggy looked bewildered.  “You serious?”  At Mickey’s nod, he frowned deeply.  “That sucks, man, and not in the total homo way that you like.  I mean, you came out to the whole fucking neighborhood for his sorry ginger ass.  You need me to fuck him up?  Might not be as good as it as I used to be, but Tasha can hold him down while I hit him with my crutch.”  

Mickey couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Naw, it’s not like that.  I broke it off with him.”

Across the room, Mandy was looking deeply uncomfortable before she muttered an excuse and left the room.

“What?”  Iggy stared at him.  “Why the fuck would you do that?”

Mickey shrugged, looking away.  “Reasons,” he muttered.

“Hey,”  Iggy’s forced vocals held a new sense of urgency and Mickey turned back.  His brother leaned forward.  “I was going to press charges against Dad, you know.  I mean, before they found him.  I told the cops I wanted him arrested.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, wondering where Iggy was going with this.  Iggy made an impatient noise at his expression.  “I never would have done that before.  None of us would have.  Would have said we got robbed or got in a fight.  But you changed.  Mandy, too.  You stood up to him.  Things got different.  I saw that, and it made me want to be different too,”  he shuffled his undamaged foot awkwardly, and Mickey saw Tasha grip his hand tightly.  “The thing is, if you’re going to go through all the hassle of changing, maybe don’t keep acting the exact same fucking way, you know?  When you got something good, hold onto it, hard as you can,” he gripped his girlfriend’s hand back and they exchanged a long look before Iggy leaned back with a pained sigh.  “Made me talk too fucking much, asshole.  Jaw hurts.”  

Tasha jumped up.  “I’m going to run to the store, get some stuff to make smoothies,”  she looked at Mickey.  “He’s on an all liquid diet for the next couple of weeks still.  Hey, do you mind if I spend the night?  We haven’t been apart since he’s been in the hospital,” her smile became shaky.  “Kinda not ready for it yet.”

“Then don’t be apart,”  Mickey shrugged, faking a casualness he didn’t feel after what his brother had just said.  “You can stay here too.  It’s not exactly the fucking Plaza, but we can fit you in.”

“Thank you!”  To Mickey’s surprise, Tasha jumped forward and hugged him.  “Seriously, you’re awesome!”  She let him go, kissed Iggy’s cheek and murmured something in his ear before she hurried out the door.  

“Yeah, thanks,”  Iggy told him as Mickey sat back down.  “I still ain’t taking your room though, knowing what you’ve been doing on that bed,” he snorted at Mickey’s expression. “We can sleep out here.”  

Mickey started to argue, but Iggy’s expression told him not to bother.  “Numbnuts, shut up and get me my pills, would ya?  This shit’s really starting to hurt,”  he sighed again, shifting uncomfortably.

After Mickey had dug Iggy’s pills out of his duffel bag, he and Svetlana unfolded the sofa couch and made the bed together.  She was clearly still pissed at him, answering him in short grunts and sighing huffily every few seconds, but at least she made an effort to put a lid on the bitching in Iggy’s presence, for which he was grateful.  

Tasha had returned by the time they were done, and Mandy helped her make a batch of smoothies.  The rest of the evening passed in companionable chatter, helped along by copious amounts of alcohol.  Still, Mickey was relieved when it was late enough for him to excuse himself  and head to bed.

He wasn’t tired at all, but it was solace enough to finally be alone, away from Svetlana’s accusing eyes and Iggy’s knowing looks and their words that had crept inside his guts, currently twisting him into knots.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, he dug his phone out of his pocket and opened the Contacts list, scrolling to the G's, watching the names flit past on the screen.  

Gallagher, Asshole.  Gallagher, Fiona.  Gallagher, Ian.

His finger lingered over Ian's name, barely touching the CALL button.  It would be so fucking easy.

On the other hand, it wouldn't be easy at all. 

With a muffled groan, Mickey threw the phone on his bedside table, shrugged off his clothing and then picked up the newspaper he’d carried in the bedroom with him.  Terry’s death had long since ceased making any type of news, but he’d gotten in the habit of stealing it from the neighbor across the hall, and since he hated that sour faced bag, he didn’t have any intention of stopping.  Climbing under the covers, he opened it to the Crime section and started skimming for mentions of anyone he knew.

He was just settling into an article about the arrest of a guy he used to deal with when his bedroom suddenly banged open.

Svetlana stomped through the door, wearing her silk robe, carrying her pillow, an armful of clothes on hangers, and the baby monitor she normally kept in the living room.  Immediately she thudded over to the bedside table, setting the monitor down with a thump.  It was turned up so loud Mickey could hear Geno’s every sigh and restless movement as he tossed in his crib.

As he continued to stare, Svetlana hung up the clothes in the closet before turning his way and tossing her pillow on the bed next to him.

“Move over.”  

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  Mickey demanded.

“Moving in,”  Svetlana surveyed him from the bedside, hands on her hips.  “Move over,” she repeated again, hands on her hips.

“You can’t just-”  Mickey was cut off when Svetlana climbed on to the bed and immediately began poking his side with her long, crimson nails.  “Ow - hey!  The fuck?”

Before she could skewer any of his vital organs he shoved himself over to the far side of the bed, out of of her reach.  Svetlana immediately began to fluff her pillow, arranging it just so, and then crawled under the sheet next to him, lying back with a small sigh.

After a moment she looked over at him.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll move out when Carrot Boy comes back.”

“What makes you think he’s coming back?”  Mickey demanded, clenching his fists in an effort to settle his urge to push her off the bed.

Svetlana shrugged.  She reached over him to click off the bedside lamp, ignoring the fact that he’d clearly been reading.  “We need him.”

Yeah.

That was getting really fucking hard to argue with.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delivered as promised! Thanks again so much for reading! Feedback, as ever, is greatly appreciated!
> 
> I can also be found at http://avalonia320.tumblr.com/


	19. This Year's Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's for you, Mandy.
> 
> The chapter title is borrowed from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Mandy and Faith...two sides of the same coin, yes?
> 
> tw: mentions of canonical sexual abuse & rape

Sleep wasn’t coming.

Not that it was so much of a surprise.  Mandy had gone to bed hours before she normally did - it was just past midnight, practically still early evening in the Milkovich household.  But Iggy got tired so easily now, especially with the small mountain of narcotics he was taking, and it was easier on him if everyone else pretended they were tired too, to give him an excuse to go to bed.  So she’d retreated to her bedroom and just lay there, hoping oblivion would claim her sooner rather than later.

But it wasn’t happening.  She felt caged in, restless, like the walls were closing in.  And it was too fucking quiet.  She was so used to the cacophony of noise.  Now there was nothing to drown out the too loud noise in her head.

Finally, she gave up, getting out of bed and pulling on the jeans she’d left discarded on the floor before heading into the living room.

Iggy and Tasha weren’t sleeping out there anymore, not since that first night when Svetlana suddenly insisted that they take her room and promptly moved into Mickey’s bedroom instead.  Mandy would have paid cash money to see his face when his wife dropped that little bomb on him, but she’d heard enough of the resulting argument to get the gist.

Mandy could hear them now too, as she went up to their closed door.  Their voices were muffled as they bickered back and forth.  It was oddly soothing in a way; there was an undercurrent of affection in their tones that she was positive they’d both hotly deny if brought to their attention.

With a sigh, she turned away and moved across the room.  Geno’s crib was in here now, shoved against the wall in the corner.  He lay sleeping on his side in nothing but a diaper, face flushed slightly from the heat.  Mandy trailed her fingers over his crib bars before she reached through, stroking his cheek with the lightest of touches.  He snuffled slightly and rolled over.   _You little shit_ , she thought to herself fondly.   _You scream for days and days and the one night I could use a little company you’re sleeping like a stone._

There was a hoodie lying across the back of the chair Mickey had been sitting in earlier.  With a twinge, Mandy recognized it as Ian’s.  She picked it up, looking at it for a long moment before she shrugged it on.  

It wasn’t enough to take the chill off her skin.  Nothing ever was.  It had been present ever since that night, with Ian, the night they’d taken the acid.  The night she’d fallen into a pit full of nightmares.  

The truth was, she’d never managed to climb her way out.  Something had been unlocked, there in the dark, and she couldn’t make it disappear.  She’d opened Pandora’s box, and everything she’d managed to keep locked away for so many years was out, cloaked but ever present, a shadow she couldn’t shake.

Without really thinking about what she was doing, Mandy eased herself out the front door.  A few minutes later she was out of the building and walking down the street.

The street was nearly deserted, a car rolling idly by every few minutes.  She could hear laughter and shouts from the distance; despite the lateness it was still summer, and apparently still hot enough, though she’d disagree. for people to be out in droves.

There was no one near by though, or at least she hadn’t thought so, until out of the corner of her eye she saw a man detach himself from the shadows near her building, falling in silent step behind her.

She tensed immediately, recognizing his stealthy posture.  He didn’t want her to notice him, and that meant danger.  Instinctively, she reached in her pocket, cursing herself when she realized she’d forgotten both her baton and her phone.  

With a bravado she didn’t feel, she whipped around, keeping her hand in her pocket as if reaching for a weapon.  “Back the fuck off, motherfucker!” she shouted, and the man froze before turning and sprinting off in the other direction.

Mandy exhaled deeply.  Fuck, that had been close.  If she had any sense at all, she’d turn right around and go back home.

So, of course, she kept walking.

Fifteen minutes later, she found herself looking at the face of the Gallagher house, the normally gray and peeling paint looking ghostly white in the dark.  To her relief, light still streamed through most of the windows.  If she strained her ears, she even thought she could hear snatches of voices and laughter; of course, that could have just been wishful thinking on her part.

She shouldn’t be here.  She’d done enough damage.  She knew this, and yet she was already ascending the steps to the front porch.  

Now Mandy could definitely hear muffled voices, but they were too quiet for her to tell who was speaking.  She bit her lip hard even as she raised her hand to knock, remembering the days when she would just walk in.  

A short rap at the door and she was frozen in place, dreading that someone might actually answer the door, terrified by the idea that they wouldn’t, and she’d be still trapped here in the dark, alone.

At first, it didn’t seem like there was going to be any response, and then she heard footsteps coming closer.

_Don’t be Lip.  Don’t be Lip.  Don’t be Lip._

The door swung open and it wasn’t Lip.  Ian stood there in a tank top and boxers, face wrinkled in confusion and eyes sleepy.  Her breath was immediately snatched away by instant regret as his eyes widened at the sight of her.  What the fuck had she been thinking, coming here?

“Mandy!”  Ian looked absolutely stunned for a moment, then he stepped back and gestured for her to enter.  “Come in!”

She was seized by a strong urge to turn and run the other way instead, but still, she followed him inside and waited while he shut the door and turned to her.  “Did I wake you up?”  she asked before he could ask her what she was doing here.

Ian shrugged, gesturing to the blanket covered couch.  “I was dozing off.  Doesn’t matter.  I’m glad you came.”  

At his words, she felt the chill that enveloped her dissipate the tiniest bit.  “Everyone else asleep?”

Ian snorted.  “Not really.  Kids are supposed to be in bed.  Sheila’s upstairs.  Fiona’s somewhere around here with V, though, and I don’t know where Sammi and Frank went.”  She didn’t ask about the one name he didn’t mention.

“Want something to drink?”  Ian looked as though he felt as awkward as she did.  She nodded, more for lack of anything else to say, and he led her into the kitchen.  

When they walked in, her heart dropped into her shoe.  Lip sat at the kitchen counter, idly thumbing through an open book.  HIs head shot up as they came in and his blue eyes widened in surprise.  “Mandy!”

“Shit,” Ian muttered.  “I thought you were out with Amanda.”

“She’s coming over later,”  Lip’s eyes were locked onto Mandy’s.  He looked as if he were going to say something else, and both Ian and Mandy fixed him with twin glares.  “Jesus, thanks for the cold freeze, guys.  ‘K, I’m going,”  he picked up his book and made a big show of backing out of the kitchen.  “See, leaving.  Gone.”  

Ian turned to Mandy, his face apologetic as Lip disappeared from view.  “Sorry.  I really didn’t think he’d be here.”  

“It’s OK,”  The brief respite from the cold was gone, and she was nearly shivering now.  She saw Ian’s eyes narrow as he looked at her.  “Come sit down,”  he led her to the kitchen table.  

For a few long minutes, awkward silence reigned.  Their eyes danced off each other to flit onto various surfaces in the kitchen, unable to hold each other’s gazes for long.  Finally, Mandy couldn’t stand it anymore.  “Ian, I’m so sorry - “ she began at the same time he blurted out, “I’m really sorry about everything - “

They both broke off, flustered, and then she was laughing and so was he.  

“OK, OK,” Ian managed after a moment.  “One of us should go first.”

“Me,”  Mandy said immediately.  “Ian, I really fucked up.  I should never have given you that hit.  I ruined everything,” she swallowed hard.  “Do you hate me?”

Ian was already shaking his head.  “How is this all your fault, Mandy?  You didn’t shove it down my throat.  We were both there, and we’re both responsible.  It was a mutual fuck up.”

“It was a mutual fuck, you mean,”  Mandy interjected, and Ian turned crimson at that.  She sighed, tracing patterns in the tabletop with her fingernail.  “I never meant for anything like that to happen.  I mean, maybe you wondered, because…” she was blushing now too.  “You know that I wanted something between us for a long time.  Long after I tried to pretend I didn’t.  I used to fantasize about it.  But I swear, I didn’t ever think anything like that was ever going to happen.  I wouldn’t have done that to you and Mickey.  Not on purpose.”

Ian sighed, and to her surprise he reached for her hand.  She gave it to him easily, and he enclosed her cold fingers in his warm ones.  “Did you really think you needed to tell me that?”  he frowned then, and she knew he felt the chill of her skin from the way he folded her hand between both of his and rubbed it, as if trying to warm her.  “You know, if I had to be with a girl, just once, I’m glad it was you.  Not under those circumstances -” he grimaced.  “And I don’t really remember it either, but I guess it still counts.  Hope it lived up to the fantasy,” he grinned at her then, and she couldn’t believe he was actually joking about it, but his lighthearted tone and the way his eyes sparkled at her made the cold began to retreat once more.

“Eh,” she shrugged.  “Stick to boys.”  They both laughed at that, and then his face went solemn at the same time hers did, and she knew he was thinking of one boy in particular.

“Mickey forgave me,”  she said quietly, and Ian looked up at her.  “I mean, he didn’t just say it.  I think he really forgave me.”

“Good,”  Ian smiled at that.  “I’m glad.”  And he really was, she could tell.  He was just so fucking - _good_.  

“I think he’s forgiven you too,”  she bit her lip as the smile dropped from Ian’s face, and his eyes went hollow.

“For you and me, maybe,”  Ian was the one staring at the table now.  

“What else is there?” she asked, squeezing his hand back.

“I left,”  Ian bit his lip.  “Not just the other night.  Before.  I don’t think he’s ever gotten over that.”

Mandy sighed.  “Yeah.  That sounds like him.”  She remembered those long months when Ian had disappeared, and the days went gray as if he’d taken all the colors of their existence with him.  And if it had been that bad for her, it had been so much worse for Mickey.  She pictured his dead eyes, his flat tone, the way he went through every moment as if life were a job he had to show up for and existence was merely a role he was playing.  Ian may have had an inkling of what he’d inadvertently put them both through, but he had no real idea.  She wasn’t about to clue him in; it would just make him feel worse.

Ian looked at her then, his face pleading.  “I don’t know what to do.”

“Ian…”  she sighed.  “I wish I knew.  I thought that’s what I was coming to do tonight, fix what I broke.  But I can’t.  It’s not up to me.  And I can’t get in the middle of you guys anymore.”

Ian nodded.  “I understand.”

“So how’s it been, being back home?”  Mandy asked him now, hoping to distract him.

“Oh,”  Ian took some time to focus on the question, obviously lost in other thoughts.  “It’s been OK.  Nice to hang out with the kids again, Fiona, Lip…  Cool to get to know Sammi a little - fuck it,”  he broke off and grimaced.  “It fucking blows.  I sleep on the couch and everyone tiptoes around me either because they feel sorry for me or they think I’m going to lose my shit any second.  I don’t belong here anymore.  I miss you guys.”

“It’s not the same without you there either,”  Mandy admitted.  “Iggy moved in with his girlfriend.  She’s pretty cool.  Also, pregnant.  So it’s crowded, but it still feels half empty, you know what I mean?”

“Thanks,”  Ian smiled at that, squeezing her hand again.

“But you look good though,”  Mandy added.  “Better than I’d -”  she stopped, flushing.

“I know,”  Ian’s smile was rueful.  “It was touch and go there for a while.  I started seeing a new doctor.  Also, I’m thinking about going back to school.”

“High school?”  Mandy was startled.  

“Fuck no,”  Ian grimaced.  “There’s some online programs that I can use to get enough credits to get my diploma.  And after that, college, probably.  Still don’t know what I’m going to do but I can get the basics out of the way while I decide.  Probably won’t ever be able to pay back the student loans but I seem to recall someone telling me no one else will either, so...”

“That’s really great,”  Mandy smiled at him.  “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,”  Ian shrugged. “You know, I _would_ go back to high school...if you went too.  Why did you drop out, anyway?  You only had one more year.”

Mandy stared at the table.  “Come on, Ian.  You know why.  There wasn’t anything left for me there with you gone.”

Ian sighed.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and then peered at her, eyes brightening.  “Hey, you could do some of this stuff too, you know.  I have all the booklets; want me to get them for you?”

“No,”  Mandy shook her head emphatically.  “I barely made it through class every day as it was.  That shit’s not for me.”

“Mandy -”  Ian started to protest and she gave him a hard look.  He fell quiet at that.

They were both silent again for another minute before Ian leaned forward, his eyes intent on her face.  She squirmed uncomfortably under his sudden scrutiny.  

He reached forward and brushed her hair back from her face.  “Are you OK, Mandy?”

She tried to laugh at that, but it came out more of a stilted choking.  “Am I - Ian, why the fuck would you care?  After what I’ve taken away from you?  Why are you being so fucking nice to me?  What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well, I _am_ a headcase,”  Ian smiled, but his eyes were worried.  “Mandy, come on...you’re my best friend.”

“Still?” her voice broke.

Ian touched her face lightly.  “Always.”  

She couldn’t help it; she burst into tears.  “You are a headcase,” she sobbed, trying to pull away even as he scooted his chair next to hers and attempted to put his arm around her shoulder.  “You should stay the hell away from me before I wreck what’s left of your life.”

“Fuck that,”  Ian’s voice was impatient.  “C’mon, Mandy.  We both know this isn’t about what happened between us.  This started a long time before that.  Can we just stop pretending now?  Stop acting like you’re OK?”

She was crying harder than ever, clinging to his shoulders as he patted her on the back.  “I am OK.  I have to be.  There’s no reason not to be.  He’s dead,”  she nearly whispered the last.  

“Mandy,”  Ian pushed her back gently so he could look into her face.  “When I needed you, you were there.  You didn’t let me pretend everything was fine.”

“Don’t - “ Mandy tried to turn her face away but he refused to let her go.  

“I’m tired of dancing around this with you.  I can’t stand to see what it’s doing to you, and what you’re doing to yourself to get away from it.   Your father raped you.  Repeatedly.  He got you pregnant.   You don’t just get over something like that, and I’m scared shitless of what’s going to happen if you keep trying to pretend like it’s no big deal.”  

She wanted to put her hands over her ears, block out the words, but Ian was still holding her firmly, and it wasn’t going away.  He’d dragged all her shadows right into the light.  

“I just…”  Mandy was shaking so badly now that her teeth were chattering.  “I know.  I know what he did.”  She sucked in a deep breath.  “But I have to get past it.  I just have to be stronger,”  she whispered.  “I'll try harder.”

“Jesus, Mandy, how could you possibly try any harder?”  Ian stared at her.  “Don’t you know you deserve better than this?  Better than my stupid fucking brother, better than that asshole Kenyatta...you deserve so much more.  I wish you knew that.”

 Mandy bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “You know what I wish?” she finally asked. “I wish I was bipolar too.”

“What?   _Why_?”  Ian looked stunned.

“Because at least sometimes you get to be happy, right?  It’s been so Iong...I don’t even remember what that’s like,” her face crumpled at that and he wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his neck.

They stayed like that for several long minutes before Mandy finally pulled away.  “Sorry.  I’m a fucking mess lately,”  she forced a smile as Ian stared at her worriedly.  “I’m OK., seriously,”  her smile became more genuine.  “This helped.  I really, really missed you.”

“Me too,”  Ian gave her hand a final squeeze before she pulled it out of his grip and stood up.

“I’ve got to go,” she stood up.

Ian followed her movement, standing up as well.  “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Mandy hesitated a moment, wondering how Mickey would feel about it, if he knew she was spending time with Ian again.  Then again, she suspected he might understand more than she would have given him credit for in the past.  “Yeah.  I’ll text you.”  she started to turn towards the doorway, then stopped.  “Ian...about Mickey -”

Ian’s expression was half wary, half hopeful.  “Yeah?”

“I don’t think it’s nearly as complicated as either one of you thinks it is.  Not if you really think about it.”  Leaving him with that, Mandy left the kitchen to make her towards the front door.

As she headed into the living room, Lip stood up from the couch.  “Mandy -” he began, and just his voice saying her name was like a 1000volt electrical charge to the heart, the kind that you didn’t know if it was going to kill you or save you.

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the sound of light footsteps at the top of the stairs.  They both turned to see a quick flash of flame-red before a door slammed.

Mandy sighed.  “She’s still pissed, huh?”

Lip shrugged.  “I think Debbie’s more embarrassed than anything.  She’ll get over it.”

The anger was coil-quick to spring within her at his offhand tone.  “Like you would know.  Not everyone gets over people as quick as you do.”  

Lip’s face immediately fell.  “Hey, Mandy -”

“No.  Don’t bother,”  God, she hated him in that moment, hated him for standing there with that quasi-concerned look on his face.  She’d packaged herself up for him, body, heart, and soul, given him everything he had without the least bit of hesitation, and he treated her love like a party favor so easily discarded.  And now he had the fucking nerve to stand there and pretend to care - if she stood there one more minute, looking at him, she was going to lunge across the room and tear his smug, smirking face right off.  

Her hands were shaking again.  It was so fucking unfair that she could still love him so much, knowing what a waste of time it was.  But he still possessed everything she’d had to give.  No wonder she felt so fucking empty all the time.

Lip was trying to say something else, but she didn’t have it in her to even try and comprehend whatever bullshit he was going to throw at her.  She turned and left, clicking the door quietly shut behind her, refusing to give him the satisfaction of letting it slam.  

Just as she made it out of the front gate, a car zipped to the curb, door swinging open, and Amanda stepped out.  “Mandy!”  she smiled brightly as she caught sight of who was on the sidewalk.  “How are you?”  Jesus, how was this bitch always so fucking chipper?

“Hi, Amanda,”  Mandy forced herself to smile faintly.

“Wow,”  Amanda turned as she passed her.  “Did you just greet me with actual politeness at a time when you’re not being paid to do so?”

“Fuck off,”  Mandy snapped back wearily.

“Ah, that’s better,”  Amanda looked supremely amused at the scowl on Mandy’s face.  “Is Lip inside?”

Mandy nodded.  “He’s all yours,” she gestured towards the house.

“Really?”  Amanda was on the steps now, turning around to look back at her, smile faded.  “I wonder.  Especially every time I see you, Mandy Milkovich.”

At Mandy’s look of surprise, Amanda smiled wryly.  “Wondering how I know your last name?  Believe me, I’ve heard it a lot.”  There was pain now behind that forced complacent expression.

“It’s not your fault,”  Mandy didn’t anticipate saying the words; they just fell out.  Amanda raised an eyebrow, and Mandy hurried to continue.  “When you’re lying in bed at night wondering why you’re never enough, why nothing you do ever makes him happy...it’s not your fault.  He doesn’t know what he wants.  Also, he’s an asshole.”

Amanda laughed.  “I can’t argue with that,”  she sighed then, and for once she looked uncertain, even vulnerable, and Mandy suddenly wondered why she’d wasted so much energy hating this girl when they were both just collateral damage on Lip’s never ending journey to find himself.

“Thanks,”  Amanda added, and the two of them shared one last glance before Mandy turned and walked away.

* * *

It was early afternoon, and the playground was nearly deserted.  It was just too hot for anyone to want to play on the baking metal equipment with no escape from the merciless sun.

Mandy twirled idly on the swing, the rubber seat burning through her jeans and the heated chains making her flinch every time she accidentally touched them.  

She kicked at the barren dirt underneath her feet.  Ian had texted her back twenty minutes ago, saying he’d be right there.  Freaking men and their pathetic inability to tell time.  

Of course, she could have picked a thousand better, and air conditioned, places to meet him, but she had always thought of the playground as ‘theirs’, despite the fact the fact that they’d been there together all of one time.

Mandy hadn’t actually planned on hanging out with Ian today, despite what she’d told him last night.  But she hadn’t been able to sleep at all after she’d left his house, too many faces and voices swirling around in her head to let her rest.  Plus the apartment was so fucking crowded and noisy all day that she felt like she couldn’t catch a breath.  

She had to get out of there.  It hurt too much, the resounding guilt every time she looked at Mickey.  He was just trying so fucking hard to do the right thing for everyone... her, Iggy, Svetlana, Ian…if he pulled his head out of his own ass, maybe he might think about doing the right thing for himself for once.

So yeah.  She’d told Ian that she wasn’t going to give him advice or try to get in the middle of them anymore.  Well, she’d lied.  Someone had to put a stop to this bullshit.

“Hi, Mandy.”

Mandy whirled around in her swing, mouth popping open slightly in surprise.  Well, well.  There was most definitely a redheaded Gallagher standing next to her, but it was sure wasn’t the one she’d been expecting.

Debbie hesitated a minute before she hoisted herself on the swing next to Mandy’s, grimacing at the heat.  She looked hesitant as she turned back to the other girl. “Don’t be mad.  I told Ian I needed to talk to you.”

Mandy didn’t say anything.  She just eyed Debbie warily, waiting.

“I’m an asshole,”  Debbie sighed, her face crestfallen.

Mandy exhaled.  “Actually, that was your boyfriend.”

Debbie actually managed to smile at that.  “I know,”  her smile faded into a frown.  “I knew it all along, what he was really like.  I guess I just wanted so much to think he might be different with me.  When we were alone, he was really good at making me believe he liked me.  Plus…”  there was a slight tremble in her voice.  “When I was with him, it was the only time I didn’t miss Matty so much.”

Mandy blew out a breath, remembering Kenyatta.  “Yeah.  I get it.”

Debbie scratched her nose.  “I’m really sorry, Mandy.  All those things I said to you…”

She shrugged.  “It’s OK.  I’d say I was sorry too but -”

“You’re not,”  Debbie grinned at her.

“Nope.  Not in the least,”  Mandy smiled back at her, feeling suddenly lighter than she had in weeks.  “I guess maybe I should have let you figure it out for yourself.  I was just afraid by the time you did, it would be too late.  That Toby guy was a piece of work.”

Debbie nodded.  “Yeah.  He is.  You know all those selfies I sent him?  He posted them on Facebook after he dumped me.”

 _“What?_ ”  Mandy jumped up from the swing.  “That little prick!  Give me his fucking address - I”m going to break more than that motherfucker’s nose this time!”

To her surprise, Debbie was laughing.  “No, it’s OK.  I got a bunch of messages from other girls that he’s done this kind of stuff to.  So we all got together and we posted all of the pictures he sent us,”  her smirk was devilish.  “Little prick is right.  Everyone’s calling him Tiny Toby now.”

“Good for you!”  Mandy chuckled.  “I guess you can take care of yourself.”

“Yeah,”  Debbie shrugged modestly.  “And I made some new friends out of it too.  We’ve decided we’re done with boys for now.  At least until we can find some decent ones that aren’t total assholes...or twenty,”  her sad expression returned at that.  

“Sorry,”  Mandy touched her shoulder.  “Do we know to pick ‘em, or what?”

Debbie snickered.  After a moment, her expression went serious again.  “Mandy, will you come with me somewhere this afternoon?”

“Sure,”  Mandy looked at her, surprised by her sudden nervousness.  “Where did you have in mind?”

Debbie’s demeanor was of one who’d just unlocked the cage of a very angry, very hungry tiger, and was steeling herself to go inside.  “The community center.  There’s a meeting this afternoon, like a support group.  I looked it up online.  It’s for women who’ve been, you know...hurt.”

For a moment, Mandy thought Debbie was referring to herself, and her blood ran cold.  If Toby had hurt her in any way, he wouldn’t have to worry about broken bones this time because he was about to disappear off the face of the planet.

And then she looked at Debbie’s worried eyes, and it hit her.  Her stomach plummeted and the ice returned with a vengeance, freezing her solid in one fell swoop.

“You heard us last night,” her voice was flat.  “That’s why you’re here,”  she lifted her head, freezing the younger girl with a glare.  “I don’t need your pity,”  With that, she shoved past her, starting to walk away.

“Hey,”  Debbie grabbed her arm to stop her.  She looked frightened, but resolved.  “I already knew, OK?”  she shook her head at Mandy’s clear shock at that.  “Do you think I’m blind?  I see things.  I knew that baby wasn’t Ian’s.  It wasn’t hard to figure out the rest, not if you watch long enough.  And I’m not here because I feel sorry for you.  I’m here because I still want to be like you.  And you take care of the people you love, even when they hate you for it.”

Mandy wanted to just keep walking, willing herself not to turn around, but Debbie’s voice had the slightest wobble in it.  Unable to help herself. she looked back.  

“You never have to go back again if you hate it.  We can just sit in the back,”  Debbie’s voice was pleading now.  “We’ll just listen.  You don’t have to talk.  But maybe it would help, to know you’re not alone.”

Mandy closed her eyes for a long moment.  She didn’t open them until she felt Debbie’s hand slide into her own.

She exhaled loudly.  “Fucking Gallaghers.  Not a single one of you knows how to mind your own damn business,” she actually managed a smile to take the sting out of her words.  "Just this once, right?"

Debbie nodded emphatically.

Mandy hesitated a moment.  "And you'll stay with me?"

Debbie nodded again.  "Of course."

"OK," she must have lost her mind, agreeing to this.  But maybe Debbie was right.

In any case, not being alone seemed like the best kind of place to start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think it was explicitly stated that Mandy dropped out of school, but I don't think we ever saw her go back or mention it again after season 3, so I'm assuming she did.
> 
> And again, thank you all so much for the great feedback and kudos that makes writing this such a delight. It's so very, very much appreciated, more than you know.


	20. September's Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as life goes on, Mickey's stuck in place. A chance encounter leaves him with more questions than answers.

 

The calendar may have said September, but summer didn’t seem to have intention of letting go of her relentless grip on the city.  Temperatures still remained in the 90’s and each day was still a never- ending, humid haze.  

Mickey was pretty sure he was going to melt right onto the fucking sidewalk if he didn’t get his pale ass out of the sun’s glare, but still he hesitated, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he looked at the all too familiar glass doors in front of him.   Chicago Police Department, District 10, was spelled out in block letters over the doorway.

There was a quiet thump besides him.  “What’s the hold up, Mickey?”  Iggy asked, leaning against the cane that had replaced his crutch a few weeks back. “I don’t necessarily want to chill out in the cop shop either, but they gotta have air conditioning in there at least.  Let’s go before we roast to death.”

“Yeah,”  Mickey moved forward, careful to match his gait to Iggy’s hobbling steps.  After a few moments of watching his brother navigate painfully over the cracks in the sidewalk, he spoke again.  “You didn’t have to come, you know.  I could have taken care of this.”

Iggy snorted.  “It’s my girl.  Of course I’m going to be here.”  He grinned at that, something he’d been doing a lot of since his jaw had been unwired and he could open his mouth freely again.  They pushed through the glass doors and a welcome blast of air conditioning hit them both, making them sigh simultaneously in relief.  

The police officer behind the front desk narrowed his eyes at them suspiciously at they approached.  “Yes?’

“We’re here to pay the bail for Tasha Roberts,”  Mickey reached into his pocket and threw a stack of bills on the counter.  

The officer eyed it distastefully, and then leaned over to look through a stack of paperwork.  He attached some papers to a clipboard and tossed it across the counter at them.  “Fill that out and take the money to the cashier.  Bring me the receipt and I’ll have them bring her down.”  

Mickey and Iggy moved down the counter and Iggy leaned over to fill out the paperwork, both of them ignoring the officer’s irritated looks.  After a moment the man sighed loudly and turned around, calling through an open doorway, “Dammit, O’Neill, isn’t your break over yet?”

Mickey looked up at the name, and sure enough, it was Officer O’Neill who appeared in the doorway and walked over to the desk.  “Alright, alright, keep your hair on, Ramirez.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have any,”  the other officer snapped.  “These two are here to pick up Roberts.  Finish up with them, will ya?”

O’Neill looked over at them and broke into a surprised smile.  “Mr. Milkovich, plural.  Nice to see you both again.”

For a moment Mickey was surprised the older man knew who his brother was, until he remembered that O’Neill had been one of the cops who’d been looking for Terry after Iggy’s beating.  

Officer O’Neill was flipping through his paperwork now.  “Tasha Roberts, Property Damage and Vandalism,” he read off, raising an eyebrow.  “Slashed someone’s tires?”

“That’s my girl,”  Iggy beamed proudly.  “This insurance hag was trying to get my claim for physical therapy denied.  Tasha got pissed.”

“Would have been nice if she’d remembered to check for security cameras in the parking lot,”  Mickey muttered as Iggy finished the paperwork.  

“I’ll walk that over to the cashier for you,” O’Neill held out his hand for the clipboard and the cash, sparing Iggy the walk.  “OK, I’ll get her sent out.”  

As O’Neill turned away to make the phone call,  Iggy leaned towards his brother.  “Hey, thanks for coming up with the bail money.  I’ll pay you back as soon as my disability comes through.”

Mickey shrugged.  “Don’t sweat it.  Only you gotta explain it to Svetlana, cuz I took it out of her webcam fund.  She wants new cameras for this online wank chat thing she’s setting up for the girls.”

Iggy chuckled.  “She’s becoming quite the pussy entrepreneur there,”

“Keeps her busy,”  Mickey agreed.  

Iggy’s face went sober after a moment.  “I was kinda getting used to it, you know.  A job, a steady paycheck…”  he looked down at the cane he was clutching.  “Leave it to Dad to fuck everything up.  Doc says the nerve damage could be permanent.  I can’t go back to the warehouse.  Don’t really know what I’m going to do now; only thing I’m good for is manual labor.  Hell of a time to be having a kid, huh?”

“Hey,”  Mickey cuffed his brother on the shoulder.  “We’ll figure it out.  And you know, they say it’s never a good time to have a kid, right?”

“You would know,”  Iggy was smiling again.  “You and Svetlana seem to be making it work with Geno,” his smile faded suddenly again.  “That kid even yours, Mickey?”

Mickey blinked in surprise at the question that seemed to have come out of nowhere.  His brother studied him carefully as he waited for Mickey’s response, and it was clear now that while it may have seemed abrupt for Mickey, this was something Iggy had been wondering for a while now.  When the hell did his brother get all fucking insightful, anyway?

“Does it matter?”  he finally asked.  

Iggy contemplated that for a moment.  “Doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to you,” he looked up at the clock on the wall, apparently considering the subject closed.  “What the fuck is taking so long?  I don’t want to make you late for work.  What time you gotta be at the Fairy Tail again?”

“The Fairy Tale?”  O’Neill’s surprised voice broke in, and Mickey and Iggy realized he’d been leaning on the counter, cheerfully eavesdropping.  “Seriously, you work there?”

Iggy’s face darkened as he turned towards the officer.  “Yeah, so?  You got a fucking problem with where my brother works?”  His hand tightened defensively on his cane.  

“Hey, Iggy, it’s OK -”  Mickey broke it, trying to explain even as he felt embarrassingly warm at his brother’s unexpected defensiveness.  

Officer O’Neill leaned over, his voice cutting over Mickey’s protests.  “Not at all,” he told Iggy, smiling faintly.  “That’s where I met my husband, in fact.”

“Oh,”  Iggy’s face went from angry to surprised.  “OH!  So you’re, like -”  he looked from the older man to Mickey and started to laugh.  “Damn, you can’t even tell the bros from the ‘mo’s these days!”  Completely unabashed at the look O’Neill gave him at that, he shrugged.  “Hey, I can say that kinda shit.  I’m his brother.”

“Yes, well, you’re not _my_ brother,”  O’Neill’s expression was mild, but something about his tone told Mickey he wasn’t playing.

Iggy didn’t look concerned.  “Whatever.  I’m going to go sit down before my bum leg gives out.   You two can homo-flow in peace.  Give me a shout when Tasha’s on her way.”  With that, he hobbled over to the row of plastic chairs and eased himself into one with a pained sigh.

“Well, at least some of your family is...supportive,”  O’Neill wrinkled his nose in Iggy’s direction, but his eyes were amused.  

“I guess,”  Mickey shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling suddenly awkward.  “So how long they got you on this desk duty shit?”

O’Neill shrugged.  “It was supposed to be three months but there’s no way they’re going to keep me in here that long.  Not enough experienced cops on the beat.  I think I’ll be back on patrol within another week or so.”

“Good,”  Mickey offered, feeling suddenly guilty.  He searched his mind for something to say, a way to tell O’Neill he was sorry for getting him in trouble over Mickey’s shit.  “I - uh - “

O’Neill smiled, clearly onto what Mickey was struggling with.  “I get it.  It’s OK.  Boring, but nothing I can’t handle.  All for a good cause, right?”  he shot Mickey a wink.

“Yeah,”  Mickey shuffled his feet.  “So you go to the club?  I didn’t quite have you pegged as the chicken hawk type.  Your Carlos like twenty-five or something?”

O’Neill shook his head, looking equal parts amused and exasperated.  “He’s six years younger than me, if you must know.   And to answer your question, I’ve been to that place all of one time.  I didn’t come out until I was forty-five, and I already had two kids and one hell of a bitter ex-wife.  My sister was trying to be supportive, and she dragged me there one night.  I was there all of twenty minutes, and I left with the only person in the whole place who looked as uncomfortable as me.  We’ve been together ever since.”

“Huh,”  Mickey scratched his nose.  “Nice story.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,”  O’Neill looked amused.  “I never would have thought to move a boyfriend in while I was still married, though.  Speaking of which, Carlos is very much looking forward to meeting all of you.  You planning on coming to the restaurant any time soon?”

“Oh,”  Mickey looked away.  “See, things are kind of different now.  Ian and I -” he broke off, but he didn’t need to finish anyway.  O’Neill’s eyes were lit with understanding.

“You’re not with the Gallagher kid anymore?  That’s too bad.  Things seemed pretty serious with you two, considering you were screaming all the details to half the southside,”  Officer O’Neill leaned forward.  “You know, I didn’t give you my number for nothing.  If you need to talk, call me.  We’ll go get coffee or something.”

“Thanks -”  Mickey started to say, then frowned.  “Hey, you’re not coming on to me or some shit, are you?”

O’Neill rolled his eyes and shook his head.  “Kid, you’ve already spent too much time at that club,” he started to say something else, but then his eyes widened as he looked over Mickey’s head at the front doors.  “Well, I’ll be damned!  That’s what I like to call divine providence.”  he smiled broadly.

Confused, Mickey looked in the same direction and shock reverberated through him as he saw who had just walked into the police station and was heading right for him.

Lip and Ian were deep in conversation and didn’t appear to notice him as they made their way closer.  They were near enough that Mickey could hear what they were saying now.

“...Jesus, Lip, I don’t need to study for it - it’s a placement test!  They just want to know where I’m at so they can figure out what classes to put me in.  Can you please stop hassling me about it?”

“But it can determine how many classes you need, you stubborn fuck,”  Lip looked exasperated.  “I think you’d want to spend less time in school, not more, so why don’t you let me help -”  he broke off as he caught sight of Mickey leaning against the front counter.

Ian followed his brother’s gaze and looked just as stunned as Mickey felt when their eyes met.

“Mickey?”  he looked almost disbelieving for a moment, as if Mickey were a mirage that might disappear at any moment.  “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,”  Mickey moistened his suddenly dry lips, vaguely aware that O’Neill was moving a discreet distance away.

“Carl and his tween queen got picked up trying to boost a car,”  It was Lip who spoke, his eyes darting between the two of them.  “Hey, is that Iggy?”  he nodded towards Mickey’s brother against the far wall.  “Um...I’m going to go say hi,”  Quickly, he moved off.

Ian was flushed slightly now.  “Not exactly subtle, is he?”  

“As a hammer,”  Mickey agreed, though his mind wasn’t exactly on what he was saying.  His eyes toured Ian, starting from his slightly messy hair to the faint freckles that covered his skin, and further to his perfectly shaped lips, drinking him like a long drink of water found after wandering parched in an endless desert.  God, it had been weeks since he’d seen him, and he thought he’d compartmentalized the pain, the desperate longing, but it was raging back now in a gigantic tidal wave.  

“So…”  Ian was prompting, and it was Mickey’s turn to flush, realizing that Ian had been waiting on an explanation for Mickey’s presence.  He saw a slightly abashed smirk playing around the corners of his ex-boyfriend’s lips, as if Ian was not exactly oblivious to what he was thinking.

“Uh...Iggy’s girlfriend slashed the tires of this bitch who keeps fucking with Iggy’s medical coverage,”  he hurried to explain, fighting for a relaxed tone.

As if on cue, they could hear Tasha’s angry voice echoing from some unseen corridor.  “If I had known I was going to get arrested anyway, I just would have punched the bitch in the fucking face!”  

Ian turned back to Mickey, his face amused as a door was thrown open to reveal an extremely irritated looking Tasha and a harried officer who waved her past him into the waiting room.  “A true Milkovich in the making, I see.”

“Babe!  My hero!  Get the fuck over here!”  Iggy was struggling to his feet as Tasha hurried over.  She threw her arms around him and immediately they were making out, oblivious to the dirty look the escorting officer was giving them.  

“Carl!”  Lip was on his feet too, looking at the next group of people coming out of the same door.  Tony had appeared, and was ushering Carl and a slightly unkempt looking blond girl, who had the wary demeanor of an alley cat that had been kicked too many times, in front of him.

Ian moved forward with Lip to collect his recalcitrant sibling, and instinctively, Mickey went with him.

“This is the last Gallagher related favor I can call in,”  Tony was telling Lip as they joined him.  “Next time, I won’t have any choice but to run them both over to Juvie.”

“Thanks, Tony,”  Lip was telling him.  “Carl’s going to stay out of trouble from now on.”  

“Like hell!”  Carl was grinning brightly, and it was clear he was finding this all a grand adventure.  Mickey’s lips twitched.  

Both Lip and Ian scowled at their younger brother.  “Yes, you will, Carl,”  Lip snapped.  “Unless you want me to tell Fiona about this.”

The smile immediately slid off Carl’s face.  “Not even cool, Lip!”

Lip and Ian exchanged amused glances.  “You hear that, Lip?  I think we got blackmail material for quite a while, wouldn’t you say?”  Ian raised an eyebrow at his younger brother, and Carl glowered back.  “You both fucking suck!”  With that, he stomped towards the door, the blond girl hurrying after him.  

Lip looked heavenward.  “Teenagers,”  he sighed before turning his attention back to Ian and Mickey.  “I’m going to make sure they don’t split on us.  Meet you outside, Ian?”  he turned back after a few paces.  “Take your time.”  With a slight grin at the look Mickey shot him, he disappeared through the glass doors.

Iggy and Tasha were still making out in the corner, heedless to everything else, and that left Mickey with absolutely nothing else to focus on except the man in front of him, something that made him buzz with both anticipation and thread.

Ian opened his mouth to speak again, but what he was going to say, Mickey wouldn’t get to hear, because like an unwanted mosquito, Tony was swooping down on them.

“Hey, Mickey, I didn’t know you were here.  How’s it going, man?”

Jovially, he reached out a palm, which Mickey slapped reluctantly, wondering what the fuck was going on here.  Last time he and Tony had a run in, the cop practically had wanted to have a dick measuring contest with him over Svetlana, and now he was acting like they were best friends.

“Uh, Mickey…”  Tony looked nervous now as he dropped his hand after Mickey’s lukewarm greeting.  “So...um...how’s Svetlana doing?  She OK?  Because she, uh -”  he rubbed the back of his neck agitatedly.  “She hasn’t been returning my calls so I didn’t know -”

“She’s fine,”  Mickey broke in, tired of waiting for Tony to actually finish a sentence.  “Why don’t you just back off a bit?”  

Tony looked crestfallen at that.  “You think I came on too strong?”

Ian and Mickey shared incredulous looks before Mickey glanced up at Tony again.  “Yeah, it’s kind of your M.O., isn’t it?  For fuck’s sake, Svetlana went on one date with you and you’re acting like she owes you some kind of commitment.  Let her breathe already.  If she wants to talk to you, she’ll call.”

“Yeah, OK, I guess I’ll -”  Tony’s new bout of stammering was interrupted by laughter.  The three of them turned to see O’Neill, listening in again and apparently being mightily amused by what he was hearing.

“This just gets better and better!”  He gestured at Tony.  “You’re dating his wife?   _The Russian_? Seriously?  Can this get more convoluted?  I’m texting Carlos right now.  He’s going to love this.”

Tony scowled at him.  “Yeah, go ahead and laugh it up, O’Neill.  You’re already on my shit list.  I’ve been stuck in a car with Nelson and his gastric issues for weeks because you got put on desk duty.”  With that, he reached forward and ‘accidentally’ knocked over the styrofoam cup of coffee that was on the desk, spilling it all over O’Neill’s paperwork.

“Goddamnit, Tony, you spiteful dick,”  O’Neill groused as he grabbed handfuls of Kleenex and starting ineffectually mopping up the mess.  “How long are you going to pull this passive aggressive bullshit for?”

“Until I don’t have to drive with my head out the window in order to breathe!”  Tony called over his shoulder as he headed towards the exit with one last wave at Ian and Mickey.

“You’re an asshole!”  O’Neill yelled after him.  “He’s an asshole,” he repeated to Mickey.  “You should tell your wife that.  But underneath it all, he’s not so bad.  Just...can’t figure out how to play it cool.  Anyway, I gotta go re-do all this paperwork.  Nice seeing you again, Gallagher,” he nodded towards Ian, who looked surprised.  “And kid,” he looked at Mickey.  “Don’t forget you’ve got my number.”  With that, he grabbed his ruined paperwork and disappeared into the back.

“What was that all about?”  Ian looked confused.  “Why do you have his number?  And who’s Carlos?”

“Long story,”  Mickey shook his head.  

Ian looked disappointed at that.  “Well, I’d say we have time, but…”  he gestured with his head towards the door.  “Lip’s waiting and…”

Iggy chose that moment to come clomping over, Tasha firmly attached to his side.  “Hey, Mickey, we blowing this popsicle stand or - oh!”  he’d caught sight of Ian.  “Sorry to interrupt.  Me and Tasha will just head to the car.”  He turned back after they’d only gone a few paces.  “But in the interest of speeding this shit up before we die of heatstroke waiting, why don’t you guys just find a bathroom and bang it out?  It’d be a lot quicker than all your gay-ass moping, you know.”  

Tasha giggled at that, as unimpressed with Mickey’s glare as everyone else seemed to be these days.  “He’s cute, Mickey!”  she called over her shoulder as Iggy steered her towards the door.  “I’d lock that shit down if I were you!”

“Jesus H. Christ, everybody’s got something to fucking say,”  Mickey rubbed his forehead before turning back to Ian, who looked like he was struggling mightily not to laugh.  “Shut up, Gallagher.”

“I didn’t say anything,”  Ian pressed his lips together, but he was still smirking.  “Walk out with me.”

The two of them made their way slowly out of the air conditioned building, only to be met with a most unwelcome wave of heat.  “God, it feels like hell on Earth around here these days,”  Mickey groaned as sweat immediately drenched them both.  “Think it’s ever going to rain again?”

“Mickey,”  Ian’s tone was flat now and Mickey saw that the earlier amusement was completely gone from his face.  “Is this how it’s going to be now?  We don’t talk for weeks and then it’s polite conversation about the fucking weather?”

Mickey looked away.  “Maybe it’s easier this way.”

“Really?  For you, maybe.  It fucking sucks for me,”  Ian gave him a hard stare, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mickey sighed, unable to stop staring at those well muscled arms.  “I hear the school thing’s going well.”  

Ian stared at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw signaling danger.  

“I’m not making polite fucking conversation,”  Mickey snapped.  “I want to know how you’re doing, OK?”

Ian’s face softened slightly at that, and he exhaled, dropping his arms.  “I’ve just started getting all my shit together, signing up for some online classes.”

“Good,”  Mickey nodded.  “And uh...how’s everything else?”

Ian rolled his eyes.  “It’s fine.  I’m seeing a new doctor.  I’m taking my medication.  I’m functioning.  I’m alright.  Is that what you’re going to think about tonight when you’re lying in bed trying to convince yourself you did the right thing?”

Mickey flinched, and the anger fled Ian’s eyes immediately.  “I’m sorry.  I just...I miss you, Mickey.”  

The words were too bittersweet, painfully sharp and sweetly soothing at the same time.  “Yeah.  I -”  Mickey was cut off by the sound of loud honking.  They looked over to see Carl leaning over Lip in the front seat of Amanda’s car, both hands pressed to the horn button on the steering wheel.  Lip shot them an apologetic look as he shoved his younger brother back.  

“Guess we both gotta go,”  Mickey looked over at his own car to see Iggy leaning out the window, pantomiming panting like an overheated dog.

“Yeah,”  Ian looked nearly crushed for a moment before he wiped his face clear of all emotion.  “Later, Mickey.”

Ian was nearly at his car when Mickey called out to him, unable to stop himself.  “Hey, Ian!”

He saw Ian look back at him.  

“It was good to see you, Ian.  Really good.”  Mickey knew his voice was betraying him now, the slight shakiness easily heard.

“Sure,”  Ian managed a smile.  “You too, Mickey.”  With that, he yanked the car door open and disappeared from view.  

* * *

Mickey’s shift at the Fairy Tail that night seemed to stretch on into an endless eternity of disco lights and groping hands.  He tried to keep his mind on his work and off a certain redhead, circling the club restlessly over and over again, barking at fleet-fingered customers until he thought he’d lose his voice.  When the manager finally suggested that Mickey take a break, code for ‘stop scaring off the clientele’, Mickey was more than happy to do so, stomping into the back breakroom and snagging someone’s bottle of water from the counter.

“Hey, Milkface,”  a familiar voice called behind him and Mickey turned to see that Roger had followed him.  His muscular co-worker was eyeing him up and down, looking concerned.  “You OK?”

“Yeah.  Just...bad day, I guess,”  Mickey drained the water bottle and threw it at the recycling bin in the corner.  It hit the edge and fell on the floor, rolling under a nearby table.  

Roger came to stand next to him, leaning against the wall.  “Let me guess.  This got something do with Curtis?”  

Mickey stared at Roger.  “Curtis?”

“Oh come on, you think I don’t remember that shit?”  Roger laughed.  “The way you came in here all gung ho, trying to save that kid from himself?”  He grabbed another bottle, uncapped it, and drank before continuing.  “That was pretty fucking hot, I’m not going to lie.”

Mickey slumped into a chair, ignoring the way Roger was now looking at him.  “Name’s Ian, not Curtis.”

Roger shrugged, taking a seat next to him.  “Yeah, that sounds more likely.  He had shit taste in stage names to go along with the worst fake I.D. that’s ever come through these doors.  Dalton, the night manager, still has it taped up over his desk as an example of what not to do.”  he flicked his eyes towards Mickey again.  “I feel his taste in men, though.”

Mickey tensed, sitting up, and Roger laughed.  “Easy, there.  No need to get all defensive; I’m not going to throw you over my shoulder and drag you off to my car.  But it’s clear things didn’t work out with you and Curtis...Ian...whatever his name is.  So I’m just letting you know you’ve got options,” he capped his now empty bottle and sent it soaring after Mickey’s, only his landed perfectly in the bin.  “I still owe you that drink, you know.”

Mickey was silent for a moment, wondering why he didn’t want to leap over the table at Roger and beat the fuck out of him for even making the suggestion.  Then again, life was different now.  He was fucking gay.  Everyone knew it.  So, even as weird as it felt to get hit on by a guy who wasn’t Ian (or a clingy, overeager Scott), it apparently went with his newfound territory.

And the thing was, he actually liked Roger.  The guy was the only member of the Fairy Tail staff he could stand, truth be told.  He was funny when he wanted to be, he didn’t take anyone’s shit, and he had a propensity for knocking heads with lightning fast precision, a trait any Milkovich would admire.  

“Look,”  Mickey finally said.  “I appreciate the offer.  I’m just not -”  he stopped, trying to find the right words.

“Ready,” Roger finished for him.  “I get it.  I forget sometimes how new you are to this whole scene.  And obviously, you’re still hung up on your boy,”  he shrugged.  “OK then.  But we can be friends, right?  I mean, I like you and I think you at least find me tolerable.  So let’s get that drink.  Tomorrow night after work?”

Mickey hesitated for a long moment, then shrugged.  “Why the fuck not?”

Roger broke into a broad grin, standing up.  “Excellent.  It’s a date.”

“No, it’s not!”  Mickey yelled after him as Roger exited, only to be met by the other man’s trailing laughter as he disappeared.  

For a moment, Mickey was almost amused, mouth twitching slightly before his half smile faded.  He dug his too silent phone out of his pocket and opened the Contacts list, scrolling again to Ian’s name, the way he’d done a humiliating number of times the last few weeks, and just stared at it.  Is this what moving on was supposed to feel like?  Because he didn’t feel like he was moving anywhere.  He felt like his feet were mired in slow sucking quicksand, swallowing him with excruciating sluggishness, and he was barely keeping his head above it all.  

And what about Ian?  Moving on was inevitable for him too, right?  In fact, Mickey would bet cash money Ian was probably going to move on a lot faster than he was.  He’d meet somebody, at school, or some club, or even just walking through the neighborhood, someone who didn’t qualify for the 55 and over menu.  Someone cleancut and easy going, who didn’t have fuck-u-up tattoo’d on their knuckles or a stable of Russian whores and a wife waiting for him at home.  Someone who had a future.  It was the way it should be.

And it was what was going to submerge Mickey whole in that quicksand, no hope of ever clawing his way out again.

He closed his eyes, rubbing at his lids impatiently, but all he could hear was Ian’s voice again:   _Is that what you’re going to think about tonight when you’re lying in bed trying to convince yourself you did the right thing?_

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself under his breath.

Then he stuffed his phone back into his pocket and got up to go back to work.

* * *

By some miracle, Mickey managed to (mostly) keep his mind off of Ian for the rest of the night, making it through his shift at the club, and then another few hours at home, taking care of Geno, dodging Svetlana, and getting drunk with Iggy.  When he’d imbibed enough to make him pleasantly sleepy, he made his way to his bedroom and was blissfully dead to the world within minutes.

At least until until the voice came abruptly out of the darkness.  “Wake up.”

Mickey jerked out of his near slumber abruptly as a sharp fingernail jabbed him in the side.

“Wake up!”  The thickly accented voice husked in his ear again.

“The fuck?”  Mickey rolled over to see his most unwelcome roommate propped up on her elbow, looking down at him impatiently.  “What’s going on?”

“I can’t sleep.”

Mickey groaned in exasperation as he looked back up at his wife.  “How is this my fucking problem?”  he started to roll back over, but she poked him again. “Goddammit!”  He rolled back over to face Svetlana.  “Do that one more time and I’m pulling those fake press-on fuckers right off your fingers.”

Svetlana rolled her eyes, looking suitably unimpressed.  “I want to talk.”

Mickey rubbed his eyes.  “Jesus, please don’t bring up the Ian shit again.  I swear to God I’ll place an anonymous call to the INS.”

“No,”  Svetlana blew out an impatient breath.  “Everything is not all about you.  I want to talk about me.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow.  “And you think I care because…?”

“Shut up,” she snapped before falling back on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling.  “I do not know what to do about Tony.”

Mickey was surprised enough to lean up on his elbows.  “Hold up.  You want advice about your fucking love life?  And you’re asking _me_?  You do realize Mandy’s twenty feet away, right?”

“You know about these things more,” she rolled over slightly to face him.  “Did you always know you liked boys?”

“What?”  Mickey blinked the rest of the sleep out of his eyes, trying to understand what she was getting at.

“Did you ever like girls?”  Svetlana persisted, leaning towards him again.  

“Jesus,”  he muttered again.  “No.  I never liked girls.  Are we done now?”

Svetlana fell silent for a long moment, and he almost thought he was off the hook until she spoke again.  “I like Tony.  But I don’t know if I will like his penis.”

“Fuck me,”  Mickey grumbled before he turned back to face her once more.  “Are you having some kind of identity crisis?  Is this why you’ve been avoiding his calls?  I thought you swung both ways or some shit.  You wondering if you’re gay?”

Svetlana sighed.  “Maybe.”

Mickey sighed impatiently.  “Nobody’s forcing you to date him, you know.  If you like pussy and he’s not enough of one for you, tell him to fuck off.”

“But I do like him,”  Svetlana shifted restlessly.  “And I am curious to see if he has strong tongue like Nika,” she smirked at Mickey’s disgusted expression.  

“Tongue’s one thing.  But you can’t really get around the fact that he’s a man, and he’s got a dick.  It’s going to come up at some point,”  Mickey grinned at this, but the magnificence of his pun was lost on Svetlana, who was frowning at him perplexedly.  He sighed.  “Look, just do what feels right, OK?  Mess around with him, take his tongue for a test drive, grab his dick at some point.  If you don’t like it, you’ve got your answer.  And if he gets pushy, remind him I got a million ways to make him disappear.”  

Svetlana smiled at that for a moment before frowning once more.  “Maybe it is not because I like girls too.  Maybe I just do not like sex.  How am I supposed to be with anyone if I do not like sex?”  

Mickey stared at her.  “You don’t like sex?  Since when?  Because I heard you with Nika more times than I ever want to remember.  If you don’t like sex, you oughta get a fucking award for that performance.”

Svetlana’s face fell at that, and Mickey felt immediately like an incredibly stupid asshole, considering who he was talking to.  She was a fucking professional.  Of course she knew how to fake it.  “Seriously?  You weren’t into it at all?”  he pondered that for a moment.  “It’s not that weird, I guess.  I mean, you’ve been fucking professionally since you were like, what, sixteen?  You’re probably just chaffed.”

Svetlana punched him none too gently in the shoulder at that.

“Ow!”  Mickey rubbed the sore spot gingerly.  “I’m just saying!  Now that you don’t have to lift your own ass for cash anymore, maybe give it some time, let it seem like fun again instead of work.  I mean,  that’s how it should be with someone you like, you know.  Fun.  Not something you have to do to make them happy.”

He could see her searching for the right words.  “It was best with Nika, nice even,”  she sighed heavily.  “I miss her.”

“You miss that psycho smackhead?  You do realize that bitch was batshit crazy, right?”

“That’s what I liked the best about her,”  Svetlana smiled, but it was tinged with sadness.

“You’re not putting me on?  You were that into her?”  Mickey demanded.

Svetlana lifted her shoulders.  “It was not so much like that.  Not like you and Ian,” she ignored Mickey’s slight wince at the reference.  “But she was special to me.  I did not feel so...alone.”

“Huh,”  Mickey laid back down on his back, considering this.  “Well, I can’t back you on Nika.  Your crackwhore stole all my Seagal dvds and my favorite pair of brass knuckles.  I’ll break her fucking kneecaps if I ever see her coming through my door again.”  he eyed Svetlana’s dismal expression out of the corner of his eye.  “Hey, you said it wasn’t true love, right?”  he waited for her nod before continuing.  “But it was something.  And if you could feel something with her, you can feel it with someone else, something even better, maybe.  Maybe’s it’s gonna be with Tony.  Maybe it’ll be some chick.  You’ll figure it out in your own time, if that’s what you want.”

“Sometimes I think so.  Sometimes I want to fall in love, see what it’s like.  Most of the time it seems like too much work.  Too much heartbreak,”  Svetlana looked over at him.  “Like with you and Ian.”

Mickey groaned.  “I should have known you were going to drag this shit up again.”

Svetlana sat up now, looking at him fixedly.  “Do you think you did the right thing, ending it?”

“Fucking hell,”  Mickey stared up at the ceiling, wondering how the hell the fates always managed to align in just the right way to screw him over, every single time.  “I don’t know,”  he finally admitted.  “Saw him today.  He’s doing good, just fine without me.  That was the point, right?  He doesn’t need me to take care of him anymore.”

“Hmm,”  Svetlana’s sniff was skeptical.  “I did not think you were with him just to take care of him.”

Mickey didn’t know what to say to that.  Svetlana laid back down after a moment, her face turned towards him.

“You’re a good man, Mikhail,” she said suddenly.  

Mickey raised his eyebrows, looking at her in surprise.

She smiled slightly.  “You were good for him.  You’re good to me.  You’re...maybe not so bad with Geno.  You’re a good man.  You deserve to be happy.  Maybe try to not talk yourself out of it so much.”

She rolled over at that, facing away from him, curling up on her pillow.

“Is this your way of saying you’re sorry for throwing half the contents of our kitchen at my fucking head?”  Mickey asked her.

Svetlana didn’t respond, which was answer enough in itself.  He knew her well enough by now to know that was as close to an apology as he was ever going to get.  

“Tired now,”  she mumbled after a few minutes of silence.

Mickey tried to follow her example, rolling over on his side as well and burying his face under his pillow, but it was fruitless.  With an exasperated sigh, he sat up.  “Now _I_ can’t fucking sleep.”

He looked over at Svetlana for a response, only to be met with a faint snore.  “Great.  Thanks a lot.  Just for that, I’m drinking the rest of your vodka,”  he started to get out of the bed to go get the bottle, but his gaze fell on his phone, sitting on the night stand, blinking up at him.

He picked it up, turning it over and over in his fingers before pressing the buttons that brought up Ian’s name once more.  A second’s hesitation, then he pressed text, typing quickly.

_I miss you too._

He looked at the message on the screen, finger hovering between delete and send before he made his decision, pressing the button.

 **Message Delivered** , the screen flashed back at him.

Mickey couldn’t find it anywhere within him to come up with one iota of regret.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I can also be found at http://avalonia320.tumblr.com/
> 
> As always, feedback is very much appreciated!


	21. Change Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One text, four words, and it seems like everyone on the South Side has an opinion about what Ian should do next.

_I miss you too._

Ian pressed a button on his phone, lighting up the words on his screen once again, tracing them with his eyes over and over.  When his back began to ache from holding his half sitting, half reclining position on the couch he sat all the way up, swinging his feet to the floor.

“I miss you too,” he read aloud.  The shape of the words as they left his lips felt a little too familiar,  and distantly, he was aware of a chorus of sighs.  Still, he continued, unable to help but give voice to the questions that kept exploding in his brain, only vaguely aware that they too also tasted of pointless repetition.  “But what do you think it means, though?  Like, he misses me but -”

His words were cut off in a chorus of groans.  Ian frowned, setting down the phone on the couch next to him to observe his captive audience.  Carl, Liam, and Chuckie were sitting on the floor in front of the TV where Spongebob Squarepants pranced merrily on the screen.  They’d all turned to glare up at him.  Debbie, who was lying sideways in the chair next to the couch, legs dangling over the sides, looked up from her own phone with a scowl.  “Ian!”  she snapped when she saw him looking at her.  “You’ve already asked us this about a hundred times.  It’s getting old.”

“I have?”  Ian looked back at his phone and then at Debbie.  “Well, what do you think though?  Like is he trying to say ‘but that’s just how it is’?  Or he misses me like he thinks he made a mistake?  Do you think he’s telling me he wants to get back -”

The question was abruptly cut off by the couch cushion that his younger sister hurled at his face.  He batted it away from him to the floor, only to have to duck the shoe that Carl had thrown at the same time.  The empty Capri Sun pouch that Chuckie hurled was far less effective, hitting his foot and disappearing under the sofa. Even Liam got in on the act - the toy car he’d been playing with bounced directly off the side of Ian’s head, making him wince.  “Hey!!”

“What’s _wrong_ with you?”  Chuckie blinked at him solemnly from his seat on the floor.  "Do your pills make you stupid or have you always been this way?"

"Seriously," Carl agreed. "Just listening to you go on and on is making me want to study hard and stay in school.  It’s freaking scary."

"Hey!" Ian protested again, but he was cut off by Debbie who leaned forward in her chair.  "Chuckie, Carl, shut up. "

"Thanks, Debs,"  Ian began but his younger sister fixed with with a deeply critical glance and he fell silent.

"They're right, you're acting like a moron.  When someone tells you they miss you, it generally means they miss you.  Maybe you could, I don’t know... _do_ something about it?”  

"Ian!" Ian turned to see Sheila coming in from the kitchen, neatly attired in a patterned dress and frilly apron, looking like a slightly manic June Cleaver.  The tray she carried only added to the image. "I put this together especially for you, sweetheart.  Children," she gestured to the others, "yours is on the table.”  she turned back to Ian as the kids disappeared.

"You didn't have to bring mine out," Ian told her, looking at the immaculate plating as she sat the tray down on the coffee table in front of him.  

"Oh, it's no trouble," Sheila smiled before gesturing to a smaller plate.  He recognized his evening medications, lined up neatly.  "Now you take your pills and eat up and you and I are going to have a little talk, OK?”

“This is dinner?”  Ian blinked at his plate as the meatloaf, potatoes, and green beans swam into view and solidified.  He felt off, hazy, as if coming out of a deep fog. “What happened to breakfast?”

“Breakfast?”  Sheila frowned at him.  “Ian, don’t you know what time it is? It’s almost seven.”  She smiled at him and patted his knee as she settled herself on the couch next to him.

“Seven?  At night?  I’ve just been sitting here all day?”  Ian blinked, trying to focus and look back.  It was coming back, slowly...he remembered eating breakfast now, even lunch, which was a soggy peanut butter jelly sandwich Carl had made for him and delivered on a paper plate with a plea to ‘ _eat something and shut the hell up_ ’ and yet, even faced with these undeniable memories, Ian couldn’t bring himself to believe it had been a whole day.  He felt like he’d barely just woken up, the beep of Mickey’s text shaking him out of the dark.  Where had the time gone?  

Sheila nodded again, her worried expression clearing in sudden understanding as she glanced again at the tray.  “Oh honey, don’t look so confused.  This happens sometimes when you have to acclimate to a new dosage. Things can get a little wonky and it’s easy to lose track.  You’ll adjust soon,”  she patted his knee again, reassuringly.

“Oh. ‘K,”  Ian blinked again, scratching his head.

“Eat,”  Sheila encouraged him.  “You’ll feel better,”

“Yeah,”  Ian took a bit of the meatloaf on his plate, and another thought came swirling out of his hazy head.  “You said you wanted to talk to me?”

“I do!”  Sheila beamed at him, looking pleased that he’d remembered.  “Ian, dear, I just want you to know that we’re all so happy that you heard from Mickey, and that a little progress seems to have been made.  I am just as thrilled for you now as I was when you first told all of us about his text, oh, about twelve hours ago and you repeated it, over and over, all day long.  And you showed us all the message, several times, in fact. And here you are, talking about it again,”  she smiled even more brightly, and he saw that one of her teeth had pink-red lipstick on it.  

“Oh,”  Ian started, flushing slightly as more, rather uncomfortable memories started to come back to him. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

Sheila nodded.  “I understand, really, I do.  A gentle reminder, however, that you are not the only person in this house who is on psychotropic medication.  Mine also has side effects.  Sometimes those side effects make me...well, a tad bit irritable.  And let’s add to that the rather enormous dose of hormones I’m on to regulate my raging case of early onset menopause, and well - sometimes I find myself a little on edge. I’ve tried very, very hard to be patient, but I have to admit, I fantasized about slicing you open like an Easter ham and serving you on fine china with a fresh sprig of parsley the whole time I was making dinner.  And I just don’t think that’s healthy for either one of us, do you?”  

Ian was too busy choking on his mouthful of meatloaf to answer.  Sheila squeezed his knee, oblivious to his horrified shudder.  “Of course you don’t.  So I’m going to make a loving suggestion that I really think is going to benefit us all.  If you want your boyfriend back, it’s time to get off your rather delightful ass and go get him.  Don’t you think?”  

Ian swallowed hard, looking at Sheila’s wide and rather terrifying smile.  “I guess…?”  he rubbed his hand through his hair, trying to will the mental cobwebs away.  “Yeah.  You’re right!”  he looked back at Sheila.  “I’m going to do it!  I’m going to find Mickey right now!”  he started to stand up, but Sheila tugged his hand, forcing him to sit back down.  

“Eat first!” she trilled brightly.  “May I also suggest pants?”

Ian looked down, belatedly realizing he was only clad in boxers and a tank top.  “Clothes.  Good idea,”  he turned back to his plate, eyeing the meatloaf warily and suddenly wondering if anyone else who’d annoyed Sheila had disappeared recently.  

Then he shrugged and dug in.  Even if it was slightly possible that her meatloaf contained people, Sheila was a hell of a cook.

Just as he was finishing the last bite, there was a knock on the door.  Sheila jumped up from the couch to answer it.  A minute later, Svetlana was striding in, carrying Geno.  Surprised but pleased, Ian jumped up from the couch.  As soon as Geno caught sight of Ian, he held out his tiny arms, much to Ian’s delight.  He reached for the baby, and Svetlana surrendered him readily.  “Hey there, little guy!  How are you doing?”  

“He’s sleeping through the night without you, finally,”  Svetlana answered as Ian cradled a giggling Geno against his chest.

Ian frowned at that.  “Great,” he said flatly, before he turned his attention back to Svetlana.  “You look nice,”  he told her, looking at her skintight black dress.  “What are you so dressed up for?”

“Going out with your sister,”  Svetlana informed him, looking around.  “Where is she?”  

“Upstairs, I think.”

Without another word, Svetlana headed up the staircase.  Ian looked after her for a moment before he carried Geno back to the couch, sitting down and lifting the baby high in front of him so he could blow raspberries on his belly, a favorite trick.

The next thing he knew, Geno was snatched out of his grip.  He looked up to see Debbie holding the tot possessively away from him.  “Mine!  Get your own ten dollars an hour!”

“Hey!  Give him back!”  Ian protested,  

“No way!  Svetlana’s paying me cash to watch him tonight.  I play my cards right, this could become a regular thing.  I don’t need you messing it up.  She’s not going to pay me to babysit if you’re always running around like a big, dumb red dog practically begging to do it for free, you know,”  Debbie walked around the couch to join him, still holding Geno.  The baby’s tiny head swiveled between the two of them as he screwed up his face, trying to make up his mind whether he wanted to cry or not.  After a moment, he seemed to decide Ian was still close enough for comfort’s sake, and contented himself by grabbing handfuls of Debbie’s long red hair.

“Aw, who’s a cute little steady stream of disposable income?  You are!”  Debbie cooed, bouncing Geno on her knee.  She shot a look at Ian.  “Don’t stare at me like that.  I’m not going to feel guilty for taking advantage of capitalism.  I need stuff.  I’m outgrowing all of Fiona’s old bras, and unlimited texting doesn’t pay for itself.  Besides, look at him,”  she rubbed the baby’s cheek fondly.  “Anyway, don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”  she shot him a significant look.

“Oh yeah!”  Ian jumped off the couch, snatching last night’s discarded clothing from the floor, and hurriedly pulled them on.  He was almost ready when Svetlana and Fiona descended the staircase.

“Where are you going?”  Fiona asked, watching Ian pull on his camo hoodie.

“To see Mickey,” he told her, picking his phone off the table and shoving it into his pocket.

Fiona smiled at that, sharing a look with Svetlana that clearly read ‘about time’.  “Good!  I’m glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, I figure it’s better to go see him in person.  We’ve got a lot to talk about.  I can’t say it all in a stupid text.”

Fiona’s smile dropped immediately, mouth popping open.  Next thing Ian knew, both Fiona and Svetlana smacked him across the back of the head at the same time.

“OW!  What the hell?”

“You asshole, you haven’t texted him back yet?  Or called him?”  Fiona’s flashed dangerously.  “Jesus, Ian, you just left him hanging all day? He puts himself out there like that and you just don’t even respond?”

“Fiona, it was _four words_!”

“From Mickey Milkovich, that was practically a bouquet of roses and a handwritten sonnet!”  Fiona glowered at him.  “Do you have any idea what it’s like to lay it all on the line for someone, leave them messages they never respond to, or wait for months for -”  she broke off at Ian’s expression.  “OK, my shit, not yours.  But still, the principle is pretty much the same.”

“Shit...”  Ian’s head started to throb as the truth of Fiona’s words sank in.  Jesus, Mickey had sent him that text  - what had Sheila said, over twelve hours ago?  And he’d just been sitting there on the couch, babbling about it like an overexcited monkey, never once recalling that some kind of action on his part must be required.  Chuckie’s earlier comment about ‘stupid pills’ was starting to seem eerily accurate.

“You’re right; I totally fucked up.  I’m going to find him and explain,”  Ian sat down again to tie his shoes, noticing belatedly how dressed up his sister looked.  “Haven’t seen you turn it out like that for a while.  Must be going someplace special.”

Fiona smiled widely, exchanging a look with Svetlana.  “We are.  It’s called The Pink Beaver.”

Ian stared.  “The Pink - Fiona, that’s a lesbian club!”

Both Fiona and Svetlana shot Ian pitying glances.  “It’ll be fun,”  Fiona told him.  “Give Svetlana a chance to weigh her options before she settles for humdrum Tony,”  she faked a wide yawn.

“Okay, but Fiona, what about _you_?”

Fiona shrugged.  “I’m not quite ready to go back on the prowl just yet.  I figure this will be a good starter for me.  It's just for fun.  If anyone hits on me - well, they'd _better_ hit on me.  Women are pickier than men.  I need validation."

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting into,”  Ian tried to warn her as he finished tying his shoes and stuffed his phone into his pocket.

“Speak for yourself.  Aren’t you even going to call Mickey before you go riding off into the sunset to find him?  Might help if you had a clue where to go.”

Ian hesitated, pulling his phone out of his pocket before shaking his head.   “He’s probably pissed at me by now.  I don’t want to give him a heads up I’m coming and give him a chance to avoid me,”  What he really didn’t want, and he wasn’t about to admit it to Fiona, was to hear over the phone that Mickey’s text might not mean what he hoped it did, that he could get shut down and clicked off without ever once being able to look Mickey in the eyes.  No, he needed to see him.

Fiona was shaking her head.  “You’re so dramatic.  Seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble to me, but fine, do it your way.”  Once again she exchanged a mutual eyeroll with Svetlana.

Something occurred to Ian then.  “Svetlana, does Mickey ever talk to you about me?”

Svetlana shrugged.  “Of course.”

“What does he say?”  Ian leaned forward eagerly.

Svetlana scoffed.  “I am not going to tell you!  It would be -”  she searched for the word.

“Disloyal?”  Fiona offered.

“Since when?”  Ian demanded, astonished.  “I thought I was your friend!”

“You _are_ my friend,”  Svetlana folded her arms.  “But Mickey is my…” she thought again for a moment.  “Partner.  Comrade.  How do you all say it?  Bro’s before ho’s.”

“Did you just call me a ho?”  Ian asked her.  She just smirked in response.  He considered responding with ‘takes one to know one,’ but Svetlana scared him more than Sheila did, so he kept his mouth shut. “Fine.  Can you at least tell me if he’s at home?”

“He wasn’t when I left,”  Svetlana looked at Ian’s crestfallen expression and sighed.  “You want me to find out where he is?”  

“Don’t tell him it’s me that wants to know,”  Ian pleaded as Svetlana extracted her cell phone from her rather ample cleavage and dialed.

“Mickey?  It’s me.  Where are you?’

Ian waited as Svetlana rolled her eyes, listening to the voice on the other end.  “Because I’m your wife, that’s why,”  she snapped and listened again for a moment.  “I do not know where that - never mind.  Text me the address,”  she waited for another moment, sighing impatiently.  “So I can look it up and find out where the nearest store is so you have no excuse to not pick up diapers on your way home.  Also, tampons,”  Even from several feet away, Ian could hear Mickey swearing loudly and he grinned as Svetlana clicked off the call.  

After a minute, her phone beeped and Svetlana held out the phone so Ian could read the address.  “That’s in Boystown,” he said in surprise.  

“That _is_ where he works,”  Svetlana dragged out the words slowly, as if speaking to someone very stupid.

OK, Boystown it was then.  Ian decided he’d better get moving before he started to second guess himself again.  

On the way out, he was met at the door by Frank and Sammi, who were apparently just returning from whatever scam they’d been pulling this time.  “Hey there, tiger, where are you off to in such a rush?”  Sammi smiled at him as he tried to move past her.

Ian hesitated for a moment.  He never was sure how to feel about Sammi.  On one hand she could be kind of cool but on the other she was just - needy and falsely cheerful and trying way too fucking hard all the time and it made being around her exhausting.  

“I’m just - going out for a while,”  Ian started to walk past her again.

“Oh!  Going to find that boyfriend of yours, are you?”  Sammi’s eyes sparkled.  Jesus Christ, he really _had_ told everyone.  

“Something like that, yeah,”  Ian forced a smile for her.  Just as he moved past Frank, his father lifted his head and looked directly at him.  

“Good luck,”  he said quietly.

Ian searched Frank’s face for signs of mockery, puzzled when he didn’t find any.  Shaking his head, he walked off without another word.  

* * *

It was nearly an hour, transferring trains, before Ian made it to his destination.  As he grew increasingly clearheaded, he also grew increasingly nervous.  The last thirty minutes of the trip had been an exercise in overcoming massive anxiety, the pace of the Red Line seeming excruciatingly slow.  Who knew if Mickey was even still in Boystown at this point?  The potential for this journey to be a massively frustrating waste of time was feeling pretty damn high.

He found himself glad he’d brought his hoodie as he headed up Halsted.  There was a chill in the air that indicated the endless Indian summer might finally be at an end, and the increasingly dark sky only added to the feeling.

Finally, he was stopping before the address that Svetlana had given him, looking at it in mild confusion.  This wasn’t a bar, like he’d expected.  It was a nice looking, upscale coffee house, with  casually coiffed, young urban professional types coming in and out of the doorway.  It was the last place Ian would have expected to find Mickey.  Another heart-sinking thought occurred to him - maybe Mickey had deliberately texted Svetlana the wrong address out of spite.  

Well, fuck it.  He’d might as well check since he came all the way out here, and if it was for nothing, at least he could load up on caffeine before trying again.

He pushed open the door, then froze.

Mickey was here.  Oh, Mickey was most definitely here.  Sitting at a small table not ten feet away, not noticing Ian at all, because the man sitting across the table from him had all his attention.  Ian ground his jaw together as he recognized Roger, the bouncer from the Fairy Tail.  The big man was leaning over the table towards Mickey.  The feeling of falling into a strange, parallel universe was back, stronger than ever, as Ian looked at Mickey, who seemed ridiculously comfortable in surroundings Ian never even would have considered that Mickey would set one foot into.  He stared at his ex boyfriend’s tattoo’d fingers, wrapped around one of those ridiculously overpriced, fancy coffee drinks instead of his usual beer.  The biggest surprise was his face.  Mickey was laughing, goddamn laughing, at something Roger was telling him as the two leaned towards each other.  Underneath the table their knees were practically touching.

“Hey, are you coming or going?”  A voice broke into his increasingly anguished reverie.  He looked at the woman in front of him, who was clutching a steaming cup and a paper bag, realizing he was still framed in the doorway, blocking anyone from passing through.

“Going,” Ian mumbled, and with that, he ducked back out the door and onto the sidewalk.  One quick glance through the still open door revealed that Mickey had never even looked up.  

He was halfway down the block when he noticed the change in the atmosphere.  It was far darker than it had been a few minutes ago, and wind was whipping small pieces of trash and a few early autumn leaves past him down the sidewalk in a rush.  There was an ominous flash in the sky, causing passerbys to gasp and hurry their steps.  

The rain began to pour down at the same time the thunder cracked, and people all around him abandoned all reticence, many running, some of them laughing, others looking disgruntled, to get to their cars or dash into near by buildings.

Ian just stood there, feeling the rain splatter him, and could think of nothing more than how perfect this was.  Was it just yesterday that Mickey had asked him if it would ever rain again?  Well, looked like he had gotten his answer.

Just as Ian had gotten his.

It was a long moment before he could bring himself to zip up his hoodie and pull the hood over his already soaked head.  Another minute before he could communicate with his numb limbs and begin moving, jogging slowly at first and then faster and faster, buildings, sidewalks, and faces all blurring into one another as he passed, leaving any hope he’d set out with further and further behind him.

 

* * *

Mickey was having a lousy fucking night.  Though, if he was honest, the whole day had been pretty much shit.

Hadn’t started out that way.  When Mickey had woken up, he’d been filled with a weird, jittery sense of anticipation that he couldn’t quite place til he saw his phone on the bedside table.  Then he remembered the text that he’d sent Ian before passing out once again.

It had been a dumbass fucking move.  He’d known that even as he was pressing send, and at the time, he hadn’t given a single shit.  

Even in the harsh light of day, Mickey hadn’t been able to bring himself to regret it - not at first.  But as the hours passed and morning grew into afternoon and evening with no response, his euphoria dulled and dread began to weigh him down.  He’d spent a disgusting amount of time checking his phone over and over, turning it on and off, even double-checking to make sure the text had actually been sent, and every single time he did so, he could actually physically feel himself turning into the world’s biggest bitch.

What the fuck had he been thinking?  He’d been doing alright, not great, maybe, but he’d been making it.  And Ian had been doing fine too.  So one chance encounter had torn open his wounds, but he was the stupid motherfucker who went and poured salt into them.  He wasn’t even sure what he’d been hoping to accomplish anyway; he’d only known that he couldn’t stand the radio silence between them anymore.  Something had to change.

Well, it had.  What had changed was any hope he’d been secretly holding on to about things working out.  Either Ian wasn’t interested or he wasn’t available.  Mickey didn’t particularly care to know which.

God, it was over.  It was really fucking over.

Maybe at some point he’d feel relief, being able to finally let go.  But for now, all he felt was raw, blinding pain.   

Roger had noticed Mickey’s increasingly black mood as soon as they’d encountered each other at the club earlier that night.  Mickey had tried to call off their plans, but the other man had flatly refused to let him cancel, going as far as telling the manager they were both leaving early before he dragged Mickey off to some fruity, way fucking overpriced coffeehouse.

To Mickey’s surprise, he’d actually had something resembling fun.  Roger didn’t pry; instead he’d entertained Mickey with increasingly outrageous stories about Fairy Tail customers and staff until Mickey had actually been able to laugh and (kinda) not think about Ian for at least a couple of hours.

So when Roger suggested that Mickey come home with him, he hadn’t said no.  They’d stumbled out of the coffeehouse right into an unexpected rainstorm, made it back to Roger’s car, and groped around in the front seat for a few heated, breathless minutes until Roger went in for a kiss and Mickey had barely restrained himself from breaking the other man’s nose.  That pretty well deflated the whole idea of spending the night together.  Luckily, Roger had taken it in stride, because Mickey really didn’t need any more fucking problems right now.

So now he was walking into the Alibi, a crappy choice if there ever was one, because it was more work than fun these days. But at least it was better than going home, where he’d have to endure Iggy and Tasha’s constant fight-then-fuck fest.  Also there was Mandy, and he really didn’t want to see her until he had some serious gameface on.  She’d been looking better lately, and last thing he needed was for her to backslide, blaming herself for everything all over again.

Kev looked up as Mickey approached, alerted to his partner’s presence by the loud greetings regulars Tommy and Kermit were calling to him.  “Thank fuck!  Your wife bailed on me to go barhopping with Fiona.  I’ve told you two how I feel about being left in charge of the flop shop!”

Mickey smirked slightly as he slid onto a stool.  “Yeah, heard about that.  How do you cure a serious case of dick burn, anyway?”

“With a lot of free liquor,”  Kev scowled at the memory.  “You’re going to stick around tonight?”

“Long as you keep the drinks coming,”  Mickey said flatly.  He gestured impatiently at the tap.

Kev frowned, but turned to fill a glass “You OK, Mickey?”

“I’m not here for sharing and caring hour, Kev.  Just put it down and walk away,” Mickey brushed him off, impatiently tapping his fingers until Kev set the drink in front of him.

With a sigh, Kev moved over to the next patron, a middle-aged plump blonde woman who looked barely conscious.  “You look like you’re ready to settle your tab, Lulu.”

“Jesh one more…”  the woman held up her empty glass pleadingly.  Kev shook his head and went to get her refill.  

Mickey frowned as he watched her try to drink the fumes out of her empty glass while she waited.  This whole scene was fucking pathetic.  He was starting to seriously regret his decision to not go home with Roger; at least having some meaningless, bad sex was still several steps up from where he was right now.  

He was halfway through his beer when he saw Frank Gallagher out of the corner of his eye, shuffling up to the bar and seating himself on the other side of the blonde, who appeared to have passed out in a puddle of her own drool.

“The usual, Kev,”  Frank rapped the bar impatiently.

“Really, Frank?”  Kev surveyed the older man in exasperation.  “I oughta refuse to serve you.”

“I’ll just get it somewhere else,”  Frank husked back.  

Mickey was trying his best to block out the entire conversation, not needing anything remotely Gallagher related shoved in his face right now but he couldn’t help but notice how rough Frank looked.  He wasn’t quite the wreck of a man that had been barely clinging to life that he’d been a few months ago, but it looked like he was headed there fast.  And he knew it too, Mickey was pretty sure.  His entire demeanor was one of utter defeat.  Even his reply to Kev was flat with no real fight in it.  Frank Gallagher, stripped of his usual hustle, was a sad fucking sight indeed.

Maybe Kev thought so too...after a long moment, he turned away and came back a moment later with a full glass, slapping it down in front of Frank with a thunk.  “I want it to be known that I’m serving you under protest.”

“Thanks,”  Frank mumbled.  He’d just started to raise the drink to his lips when he caught sight of Mickey.  He turned to survey the younger man, looking perplexed, before he looked around the bar and then back at Mickey.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”  Mickey snapped.  

“Is Ian with you?”  Frank still looked deeply confused.

“Why the fuck would Ian be with me?”  Mickey snapped back.  His thin veneer of self control was fading fast - if Frank knew what was good for him, he would not say another fucking word, especially if that word was Ian.  Mickey didn’t give a shit if the man was already knocking at death’s door; mood he was in, he’d gladly help him over the threshold.

“Huh,”  Frank’s brow was furrowed as he continued to study Mickey.  Then he slid off the stool.  “Your conscience is clear, Kev.  I don’t want it,”  he indicated the drink with a nod of his head.

“Are you kidding?”  Kev looked stunned.  “But I already poured it!”

“Give it to him, looks like he could use it,”  Frank gestured towards Mickey, then reached into his jacket pocket and threw a couple of bills on the bar.  With that, he turned and shuffled through the bar, disappearing through the front door.

V had emerged from the back with a tray of clean glasses, and she stopped next to Kev, looking at the full glass.  “Wait a minute.  Did Frank just _pay_ for a drink?”

Kev had picked up the bills, staring at them as if expecting them to turn into Monopoly money, before he responded.  “A better question:  did Frank just pay for a drink for _someone else_?”

“I’m confused,”  Tommy spoke up from the other end of the bar.

“And afraid,”  added Kermit.

Kev shook his head slowly.  “This has been a weird day,”  With that, he slid the drink down the bar and it skidded to a stop right in front of Mickey.  Then he moved over to the blonde and tapped her on the shoulder.  “Time to wake up, Lulu.  I’m gonna call you a taxi.”

“Whas happenin?”  the blonde jerked awake and slurred as Kev walked away to make the call.  Her bleary eyes drifted to Mickey in confusion before she put her head back down on her arms and began to snore once more.

“Good question,”  Mickey muttered to himself, and drained half his glass in one swallow.  Weird fucking night, indeed.

* * *

The brief but violent downpour had long since stopped by the time Ian began to feel the sharp stitch in his side and the way his legs were screaming in protest.  Reluctantly he slowed, then finally came to a stop.

It took him several gasping breaths before he was able to comprehend his surroundings, realizing he had no idea how far he’d run, or even where he was now.  The street he was on now was far more industrial than the commercial area he’d left behind, full of tall, dark buildings, only a few with doorways that still shown light through them.   

Ian ducked into the doorway of a building that still had faded ‘going out of business’ signs plastered on the windows and sat down on the relatively dry steps.

Though the rain had stopped, the sheer quantity of the deluge on the parched terrain was causing water to still pour through the gutters, rushing into nearby drains and expanding into mini swamps on corners where the drains were glutted with debris.  Lightning still flickered in the sky from time to time, and distant roars of thunder threatened more to come.  It was a desolate picture, and a perfect reflection for everything he was feeling at the moment.

For one moment Ian considered never going home again.  It would be so easy right now to just admit defeat and walk away.  Walk right out of this world and into another, becoming one of those anonymous faces sleeping on park benches or huddled under bridges.  Leaving Ian Gallagher and all of his incalculable failures behind forever.  

Then he dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Fiona.

His sister picked up after three rings.  "Ian!"  Fiona exclaimed.  She was slightly blitzed; he could tell by the overly enthusiastic tone.  "How's it going?  We’re having the best time!  Remember my old friend Jasmine?  She’s here!  She and Svetlana really hit it off too; you should see them right now, seriously.    Plus I’ve collected so many numbers I could sell my own directory and I made out with a super hot biker chick in the bathroom!"

"Jesus, Fiona," Ian laughed despite himself.  "You changing teams or something?"

She snorted, chuckling.  "Nah.  Wish I could sometimes though.  Guys are more trouble than they're worth."

"Yeah," Ian sighed.  "Tell me about it."

"Oh no," Some of the enthusiasm dimmed as she caught on to his tone.  "It didn't go well with Mickey?"  There was a sudden roar of noise in the background, and Ian could hear shrieks and clapping as a new song began.  "Hang on, let me get somewhere quieter."  

For a moment he heard nothing but the receding music and the occasional catcall before he heard the squeak of a door opening and it got much quieter.  "OK, I'm outside," Fiona was speaking again.  "Tell me what happened."

Ian sighed.  "I found Mickey.  He was on a date with another guy."

"What?  Are you sure?"  Fiona sounded stunned at this piece of information.

“I know what a date looks like, Fiona,”  Ian worked hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but some of it seeped through anyway.

“Well, what did he say when he saw you?”  Fiona was asking now.

“Didn’t.  I just left.  He didn’t even know I was there.”

There was a long sigh at the other end of the line.  “Ian. Clayton. Gallagher.  You went all the way out there and then just turned tail and ran at the first sight of him?  Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“But he was on a _date_!”  Ian protested again, feeling as if Fiona had missed a key point in this conversation.

"I don't care if you found him going gaily bareback in the Bears locker room with their entire defensive lineup.  He forgave you for screwing his sister, you can get over some little fling that he may or may not have had while you were broken up.  Besides, it's your fault for not texting him back earlier."

Ian grimaced, stung by that.  "Thanks," he muttered.

Fiona sighed.  "Ian, you ever notice how you have this tendency to shoot yourself in the foot when it comes to going after things that you want?"

Ian considered that, remembering the phrase Dr. Waterman kept tossing out during their sessions.  "Self sabotage," he said.

"Sounds about right," Fiona exhaled again.  "And as someone who has had way too much experience at fucking up a good thing, I want you to listen to me.  Mickey did not get over you in one day, alright?  No matter who he’s with.  Talk to him, right now.  Tell him how you feel.  Work this shit out."

“Yeah,”  Ian watched a few stray raindrops begin to pelt the sidewalks once more.  The tightness he’d felt in the pit of his stomach ever since he’d set foot in the cafe was loosening a bit.  “You’re right.  Thank you, Fiona,”

He wasn’t sure if she heard the last bit; in the background on her end he heard the squeak of a door again and then a husky female voice was speaking.  “There you are!  I’ve been looking all over.  How would you like to go for a ride on my bike?”

He heard Fiona giggling before she returned to the line.  “Sorry, Ian, I’ve got to run.  I’m going to test out a Harley!”  

“Honey, that’s not the only thing you’ll be testing out if I’ve got anything to say about it,” he heard the other woman’s voice purr and Fiona giggled even more loudly as Ian rolled his eyes.  Didn’t seem like the males of the world had the patent on cheesy pick up lines anymore.  

“Remember what I said,”  Fiona was adding now.   _“Call him.”_  With that, she was gone.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the sky at that moment, followed a few seconds later by a loud crack of thunder, and the sky opened up once more.  Ian shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.  He felt so much clearer now, as if his sister’s voice had cleared the last of the cobwebs from his brain.  The events of the day were playing back in his head once more, making him cringe slightly.  He couldn’t have handed this more badly, but that was going to change, right now.

Just as he started dialing Mickey’s number, there was an ominous beep from his phone, and with a sinking heart, Ian watched the screen turn black before it went dead.

“You’re fucking kidding me!”  God, he was such a dumb ass; he should have charged it before he left, especially since he’d been playing with it all day, obsessing over Mickey’s text. Now what the fuck was he going to do?

Well, he wasn’t going to give up, that’s for sure.  He’d find Mickey if he had to walk through the whole fucking city to do it.  

Ian eyed the still pouring rain with a sigh before he stood up, wondering where he should start.  He could always backtrack to the cafe, but he was pretty sure they would have left by now.  Maybe they’d gone back to Roger’s place.  He flinched as he pictured that.

Screw it.  He wasn’t going to talk himself out of this again. New plan.  He’d go to the apartment.  If Mickey wasn’t there, Ian was pretty sure Mandy would help him track her brother down.  If not, he’d just wait all fucking night if he had to.

Ian steeled himself to step back into the storm, but before he could, a nondescript gray car pulled in front of him and stopped, splashing water onto the curb and over his feet.  Ian squinted, trying to make out the driver’s face, but he couldn’t see anything through the rain pelted windows.  Jesus, it was probably yet another over the hill horndog trying to pick him up.  Well, if the guy didn’t give off serial killer vibes, maybe Ian could scam him for a ride before ditching him.  

The driver’s side window rolled down then, and Ian stared in shock, jaw dropping, when Frank’s face came into view.

“Finally!  I’ve been all over Boystown looking for you.  Get in.”

“Uh…”  A million questions had already exploded in Ian’s brain but he shook them off.  There was only one thing that mattered now.  “Thanks but no.  I’ve got to find Mickey.”

“Where do you think I’m going to take you?”  Frank gestured impatiently.

Ian stared for another long moment, until Frank sighed and reached over, throwing open the passenger door.  “According to some, I’ve already got one foot in the grave.  You gonna wait until I’m all the way in and buried?”

Feeling like he’d fallen through the rabbit hole and ended up in some strange parallel universe, Ian jogged around the car and slid inside, turning to face Frank.

“Where did you get this car?”

Frank grinned as he punched the gas with his foot and they shot forward.  “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, son,”

“Great,”  Ian now had to consider the very real possible he was going to get arrested for car theft - again - before he ever got anywhere near Mickey.  “Look, can you just drop me off at his place?  I’ll take it from there.”

Frank snorted  “That’s kinda pointless, since he’s not there.”

Ian shot him a startled look.  “You know where he is?”

Frank shrugged, swinging a sharp right that had Ian slamming against his door before he hurriedly put on his seat belt.  “Not that hard to find.  Kid’s social stratosphere isn’t that big.”

“So, where -”  Ian began.

“The Alibi,”  Frank huffed impatiently.  “Are we done with Twenty Questions now?”

Ian ignored that.  “Was he...alone?”  his hands clenched tightly.

Frank eyed him a moment before he spoke.  “Would it matter?”

Ian exhaled.  “No,” he said determinedly.

Frank smiled slightly at that.  “Didn’t think so.  He was, by the way.  Also, didn’t appear to be in the best of moods.  Not that this is really a unusual shift in the typical Milkovich temperament.”

“Why are you doing this, Frank?”  Ian asked suddenly.

Frank’s eyes flickered away from him.  “Can’t a father help his son out?”

Ian bit back a sarcastic reply to that, choosing silence instead.  For once, Frank didn’t seem inclined to fill it with his narcissistic meanderings, remaining quiet as well until they pulled up in front of the Alibi.

Ian jumped out immediately.  After a moment’s hesitation, he turned back, leaning down to Frank’s window.  “Thanks.  You coming in?”

Frank shook his head.  “Naw.  I figured I have until at least tomorrow morning before the lush I borrowed this fine vehicle from realizes it’s gone,” he grinned widely.  “I’m going to pick up Carl - he’ll love it!”  

“No, Frank!”  Ian started to protest but his father was already speeding away.  He shook his head, hoping that Fiona had a secret bail fund stashed somewhere.  He had a feeling that they were going to need it.

But for now, he had other priorities.  Ian eyed the entrance to the Alibi, squared his shoulders, and walked inside.  

* * *

“Here you go”  Kev placed the freshly filled glass in front of Mickey.  “Might want to pace yourself, you know.”

Mickey just scowled in return, but he did sip the beer far more slowly than he had the first two.  Between Frank and Lulu, the idea of getting drunker than shit looked far less appealing after he’d gotten a (barely) living preview of where that path could lead him.  

He was however, buzzed enough to sit there in a welcome stupor, ignoring everything but the liquor in his glass.  He would have gone on like that indefinitely if Kev’s sudden, fixed stare at something behind Mickey shook him out of his apathy.

“Mickey.”

The quiet voice had him spinning around on his stool.

Ian was standing there, shifting from foot to foot.  “Hey.”

“Hey,”  was all Mickey could manage in return, wholly unprepared for this.  

“Um, I need to talk to you,”  Ian looked beyond nervous.

Mickey was more than aware of all the curious stares being tossed their way.  “OK.  Let’s go -”  he was about to say outside but Ian was already off and running at the mouth.

“OK,” he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a dive off a forty foot diving board.  “First, I’m really sorry I didn’t text you back, or call you, or something when I got your message.  I’ve just been - my dosage, I mean, and my head’s all - never mind,” he shook himself off.  “It’s been a weird day.  Anyway, the point is, I really wanted to say something and I didn’t.  It’s kind of a problem I have when it comes to you, I guess.  Not saying shit that I need to.”

Ian paused, taking a deep breath, and Mickey couldn’t help but notice how quiet the whole place had gotten.  Kev and V were inches away, leaning over the bar not even trying to pretend they weren’t listening.  Every single person sitting at the bar, including Tommy and Kermit, had turned to stare, as if Ian and Mickey were some fascinating floor show.

“Do you fucking mind?”  Mickey started to snap at their unwanted audience, but Ian was speaking once more.  

“Like when I didn’t tell you I was leaving.  The thing about that is, I never meant for it to be for good.  I was trying to give you some space, like you said you wanted, and also, I needed to sort some shit out.  But I didn’t tell you that, and so I guess it looked like I was giving up.  I’m really sorry for that,”  he rubbed his head.

“Ian, you don’t have to -”  Mickey tried to interrupt but Ian was already talking again.

“And I could stand here all night and tell you all the hundreds of things I’m sorry for and all the ways I screwed up, but I’m kinda sick of making this all about me.  There’s more to us than just my stuff.  There’s you, and all the shit that you’ve been through.  I haven’t had a chance to be there for you the way you were for me, and I want that chance back.  So if you miss me the way I miss you, can’t we just be done with this?  Because nothing’s changed for me, and nothing’s going to change about the way I feel.  I love you, Mickey.  I’m in love with you.”

When the silence fell at last, it was weighted with expectation. Mickey knew he should say something.  Do something.  But Ian’s words were all jumbled up in his head, spinning him in circles and if he had words, they were buried far out of his reach.  There were too many eyes on him right now and he couldn’t think.  Could barely even breathe.

Ian watched him silently for a moment.  There was a touch of sadness to his smile.  “I guess  I should have said that before too.  It’s just...I thought you already knew.”

“Ian -”  Mickey finally managed to at least attempt to speak, but Ian was already shaking his head.  

“It’s OK.  I didn’t say any of this to make you feel like you had to say something back.  If you need some time to figure out that I’m not going anywhere, that's OK.  Come find me when you’re ready.  I’ll be around.”

And then he was gone as fast as he’d appeared, leaving Mickey sitting there in stunned silence, until it was finally broken by Kev.

“Shit, man, I think I’m going to _cry_!”

* * *

It had been raining again when Ian left the Alibi, but it was a much slower, lazy steady stream from the sky now, the earlier tempest past.

For the most part, Ian was protected from the elements by the overhang of the bleachers that he sat in, overlooking the baseball field.  He wasn’t quite sure why he’d gone there, only that he wasn’t ready to go back to the house just yet, face everyone’s questions about how it had gone with Mickey.

God, he felt... _relieved_.   Drained, but in a good way, similar to the way he’d felt when he’d first met Dr. Waterman and unleashed on her, but far more intense.  So maybe it hadn’t gone perfectly, maybe they weren’t back together, but he’d done it.  He’d put himself out there, he told Mickey how he felt, he’d done everything he could, and now it was out of his hands.     

In fact, he was so relaxed now, reclining back against the bleachers, his knees up and his feet pressed against the lower rung, and his head against the next level up, that he could fall asleep - hell the fuck no, he couldn’t.  While mentally he was as comfortable as he could remember being in a long, long while, physically he was wet, cold, starting to feel seriously hungry, and the risers was digging into his back and neck.

It was probably time for him to go anyway; no way to check what time it was with his phone dead, but it was probably late as hell and if Fiona got home and he wasn’t there, she’d surely panic.

Still, Ian couldn’t quite force himself to move, or even to open his eyes.  He was just content to lean back even as his muscles screamed in protest.

He didn’t even move when he heard the sound of feet ascending the riser.  Didn’t stir or open his eyes when he heard the creak of the bleacher as another figure settled themselves next to him.  There was a few shuddering vibrations as his companion shifted a few times before all was still again.

Unable to stand it any more, Ian opened his eyes and turned his head.  

Mickey was stretched out next to him, mimicking Ian’s posture perfect, legs stretched out on the bench below them, head reclined next to his.  The other man was looking up at the drops of rain making their way through the holes in the overhang and plinking on to the bench next to him.

After a moment, Mickey noticed him watching and turned his head so that he and Ian were facing each other.  “Tried to call.”

“Phone’s dead,”  his heart was beating so hard that it threatened to escape his chest, so Ian was rightfully proud of the fact that his calm tone matched Mickey’s.

“Figured,”  Mickey’s blue eyes drifted away from him for a minute, looking around once more.  “Why are we here?”

“Reminiscing,”  Ian decided after a moment.  “Old time’s sake.”

Mickey turned his face towards Ian again.  “You want to get out of here?”

Ian turned on his side more fully, ignoring how miserably cold the rain-splattered metal below his cheek felt.  “Just like that?”

Mickey shrugged.  “I’m not making a fucking speech, Gallagher.”

“OK then,”  Ian couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Ian,”  Mickey put his hand on Ian’s arm.   “Come on.  You know I love you too, right?”

“Yeah, I know,”  Ian couldn’t help the smile that threatened to crack his face open.  “It’s nice to hear, though.”

Mickey shrugged again, jumping to his feet, but Ian saw the tell-tale smile before he jogged down the bleachers, jumping the last two and turning back to see if Ian was following.  “You coming or -”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Ian crashed into him, and together they stumbled a few feet before slamming against the chain link fence, Ian leaning down to kiss him and Mickey was kissing him back just as hard and frantically, his fingers sliding around the back of Ian’s neck and winding through his hair to pull him closer.  There was nothing left in the entire world that mattered at that moment besides the feel of skin beneath skin and the unsteady staccato of their heartbeats.  When they were both breathless, they parted just slightly, the sound of their exaggerated breathing mixing with the rain, bodies still pressed together.  

“We could always rechristen the place,”  Ian suggested after a moment

Mickey chuckled.  “Old times.  This is now, and these days we have an actual bed.  Come on.  Let’s go home.”

Looking into his eyes, Ian couldn’t help but feel he already had.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look Ma, no angst!
> 
> (OK, maybe there was just a little). 
> 
> And...we're almost to the end! Still a couple of chapters to go; have a few other things to wrap up and we'll have to peek in on our boys, right?
> 
> Thank you for reading and as always, feedback is appreciated!


	22. The Ties That Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian wonders if he and Mickey can really begin again so easily. In the meantime, Mandy faces off with Fiona.
> 
> TW: there are mentions of sexual abuse in this chapter.

 

It wasn’t far past dawn when Mandy made her way home, trying to open the heavy and irritatingly squeaky apartment door as quietly as possible and hurried inside, hoping to not wake anyone up.

To her surprise, Svetlana had apparently bedded down for the night on the couch, which was unfolded into the so far unused bed portion.  Geno lay beside her on his back, sleeping soundly.  At first, Mandy thought Svetlana was sleeping too, but as she tried to walk quietly past, her sister in law’s eyes opened.

Svetlana sat up when she saw Mandy, smiling slightly at the sight of the other woman still in her Waffle Cottage uniform.  “Someone special?”  she asked.

Mandy shrugged.  “Guy at work.  Just a way to pass the time,” she looked curiously at Svetlana.  “What about you?  Weren’t you going trolling for muff at The Scarlet Slash or something like that?”

Svetlana chuckled.  “The Pink Beaver.”

Mandy shrugged.  “Same difference,”  she sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to not jostle Geno and wake him up.  “So what happened?  No one caught your eye?”

Svetlana shrugged, still smiling that implacable half smile of hers.  “Actually, yes.  Her name is Jasmine.  She is a little crazy.”

Mandy searched Svetlana’s expression.  “This is a good thing?”

Svetlana smiled a little more widely.  “I think so.”

“So I guess Tony’s out of luck then, huh?”  Mandy stretched, yawning slightly.

“Why?”  Svetlana asked after a moment, tilting her head.  “I still like him.  I like her too.  I like dating.  It is fun.”

“Just dating?”  Mandy looked at her curiously.  “Don’t you ever want something...more?”

“Like what?”  Svetlana looked genuinely confused.

“Like...someone you want to be with.  Hot, bed breaking sex.  Love, I guess,”  Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Mandy dropped her eyes.

Svetlana seemed to consider this for a moment.  “I think I have had all the sex,”  she smiled wryly, and Mandy conceded that point with a chuckle.  “And I already have love,”  Svetlana looked at her son before she looked back at Mandy.  “I have the people I want to be with.  I have everything I need, right here.”  she looked around at the discolored walls of the shabby apartment.  

“Huh,”  Mandy followed her gaze.  The apartment looked different somehow when she tried to see it through Svetlana’s eyes, something far more than the overcrowded shithole she normally thought of it as.  It looked, for the first time, like a home.

When she turned back to the other woman, she couldn’t help but notice the sadness that was weaving its way through Svetlana’s expression now.  “Sometimes I think my time is almost up, like I am princess at the ball and it is almost midnight.  I do not know if I have a place here any more.”

Mandy frowned at that.   “You’ll have your room back soon enough.  Iggy and Tasha won’t be here forever.  They’re still on the waiting list for that housing project,”  She kicked off her shoes, avoiding Svetlana’s eyes.  

“You know that is not what I mean,”  Svetlana said flatly.

Mandy did know, but she didn’t want to say it out loud.  Suddenly she felt oddly protective of her sister in law, a strange instinct as she should know better than anyone that Svetlana could take of herself.  Just give her a Jack Daniels bottle and no witnesses.

Changing the subject, she asked, “Why are you out here, anyway?  Is Mickey being a dick to you?”

“No more than usual,” Svetlana smiled widely.  “He has company.”

Mandy followed her gaze to Mickey’s closed bedroom door.  “Oh no, not that thick necked bouncer from the club.  Gross,”  she sighed to herself.  Fuck.  Not only was the mental imagery highly disgusting, how was she supposed to break this to Ian?

“No,”  Svetlana was practically beaming now.  “It’s not.”

Mandy stared at the look on Svetlana’s face as it clicked into place, and yet she still couldn’t believe it.  It was too good to be true.   _“No!_ ”  she gasped.  “It’s not - “

There was a click as Mickey’s bedroom door suddenly opened, and Mandy had her answer.  Ian stood there, hair tousled, eyes sleepy, clad in nothing but a pair of Mickey’s boxers.  Carefully, he closed the door behind him but before he could take another step, Mandy slammed into him.

“OH MY GOD!  You’re back!  I mean, you’re back, right?  Seriously?”  

“Hey, Mandy!”  Ian laughed as he hugged her back.  “Yeah.  I mean, I think so…”

“Fuck your ‘maybe’,”  Mandy was still clinging to him...she actually felt a little weak-knee’d with relief, as if she might collapse if she let go.  “You’re here now.  Do not ever leave again.  You hear me?   _Never.  Again_.”

Ian chuckled at that even as he hushed her.  “Mickey’s sleeping - I don’t want to wake him -” the words were broken off as the bedroom door opened back up to reveal Mickey, looking slightly disgruntled, and similarly attired to Ian.

“Little late for that, loud ass fuckers,”  he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Mandy immediately let go of Ian at the sight of her brother and jumped back, flushing guiltily.  Ian looked equally awkward, stepping away with a cautious side eye at Mickey.

Mickey took his hand away from his eyes and studied the two of them dubiously before he jerked his head at Ian.

“It’s early.  You coming back to bed or what?”  Mickey jerked his head towards their bedroom door.

“Uh, yeah,”  Ian flushed slightly as he followed his boyfriend back in the room and the door swung shut behind them.   

Svetlana and Mandy exchanged amused looks.  Looked like things were finally getting back to normal.

Or at least, as normal as they ever were around there.

* * *

As soon as Mickey had kicked the door closed behind them, Ian grabbed him.  The kisses they exchanged were long, slow, languid, taking their time, no reason to hurry now.

After a minute, Mickey sighed, pulling back slightly.

“What’s wrong?”  Ian asked, anxiety amping inside of him.

Mickey laughed quietly.  “Shit.  I think I might actually be too tired,” he admitted, smiling a little self consciously.

“Oh!”  Ian couldn’t help but grin.  “Well, this would be like what...round four?  I guess at your advanced age, you can’t be expected to keep up with a young stud like me.  You know, there’s this neat thing out there - they call it Viagra -”

“Fuck you,”  Mickey tossed a pillow at him.  “Don’t mix me up with your Depends wearing gray haired fucks,”

Ian wrestled him right back, pushing him backwards, and they landed back on the bed together,

“We could always talk,”  Ian suggested after a long moment of adjusting limbs and torsos so they could lie as close as humanly possible without actually merging into a single being.  Mickey was facing away from him, and Ian had an arm securely around his waist.

Mickey sighed.  “Bout what?”

“Lots of stuff,”  Ian turned on the pillow to look at him.  “I want to know what's going on with you.  Feels like I've missed out on everything.”

Mickey groaned slightly. “Like what?”

“Like…”  Ian raised himself up slightly, tensing.  Maybe it was a little too soon to go for sensitive territory, but he soldiered on anyway.  “Like what happened with your dad.  How the investigation is going.  For starters.”

Mickey turned slightly, raising an eyebrow.  “You know what happened with my dad.  Cops are pinning it on those two dumb fucks that found his body.  Dodged a fucking bullet there.  Nothing to worry about.”

Ian studied him carefully.  “There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

“There’s a lot I don’t really fucking feel like talking about,”  Mickey snapped.  His earlier good humor had evaporated entirely.  “Leave that shit dead and buried with Terry, alright?”

It felt like the temperature had dropped ten degrees - their bodies were still pressed together, but the gulf between them had widened a mile.  Ian hated the feeling and himself for pushing it.  

“I’m really sorry, Mickey, about everything - “  Ian began, feeling stupid and clumsy, listening to his words already coming out wrong.

Mickey sighed impatiently.  “You already said all this last night, Ian.  How many times do you think I need to hear it?”  After a moment’s quiet, he turned to Ian.  The brief anger was gone from his expression.  “I did some fucked up shit to you, too.  I mean, before.”

“Yeah, but that was because - “

“No,”  Mickey said flatly.  “No _because_.  Don’t make excuses for me.  I was fucked up but it doesn’t make that shit OK, and I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry, alright?”

“OK,”  Ian said after a moment.  “Thanks.”

Mickey had turned completely over so that they were facing each other.  After a moment, he reached out and touched Ian’s face.  “You know I’m happy you’re here, right?”

“Yeah?”  Ian inched even closer.

“Yeah.  All that other shit...it doesn’t matter.  This is all I need,”  Mickey contemplated him solemnly.

Now it was Ian’s turned to be tongue-tied, trying to search for the right thing to say this time, wanting Mickey to know how much those simple words meant to him.

Mickey didn’t seem to notice Ian’s internal struggle.  He was definitely tired, eyes drooping closed, his face becoming younger and more innocent by the second as he began to drift off.  It was fucking adorable.  Seemed like a good time for Ian to just shut his mouth and watch him.  

He wasn’t even aware of the one last, pesky question, flitting in his head like a buzzing housefly, until the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“Did you fuck Roger?”

Mickey’s brow wrinkled before his eyes reluctantly opened.  “What?”

“I saw you with him at the coffeehouse last night,”  Ian admitted.

“You were there?”  Mickey rubbed his eyes, bewildered.  “I didn’t see you...why the hell didn’t you say something?”

Ian shrugged, his face slightly downcast now.  “You were on a date.”

“It wasn’t a fucking date -”  Mickey broke off at Ian’s skeptical expression.  “OK, it was, sorta,”  his lips formed into a smirk as he took in Ian’s expression.  Seemed like he wasn’t exactly adverse to a little jealousy when it was on Ian’s end for once.

“So did you?”  Ian prompted.

“Does it matter?”  Mickey yawned widely.

“No,”  Ian was less than happy at Mickey’s words, having hoped for a quick denial, but he remained resolute.  “I don’t care if you did.”

“But you still want to know,”  Mickey probed.  “That doesn’t make any fucking sense, you know.”  

Ian sighed heavily, his eyes still fixed on Mickey.  

After a minute, Mickey took pity on him.  “No.  I did not fuck Roger.  Happy now?”

He could tell Ian was trying to keep his expression complacent, but the wide smile broke through anyway.  “I’m just thinking of you, is all.  You wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Roger’s got a serious case of ‘roid dick,”  he held up his finger and his thumb to illustrate.

“That so?”  Mickey was unable to keep the smirk off his face. He was definitely enjoying this.  Then sudden realization settled on his face and he sat up straight.  “Hey!  How the fuck would _you_ know?!”

It was like Ian had snatched the smirk right off of Mickey’s face and attached it to his own, before he forced an innocent expression and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Huh,”  Mickey sat back, eyes narrowed.  “Funny, it didn’t feel that small when I grabbed it.”

Ian’s mouth popped open.  “Asshole!”  With that, he shoved Mickey, a little harder than he’d meant to, and the other man went sliding right off the bed onto the floor with a pronounced thud.

“Shit!”  Ian scrambled over to the other side of the bed to look down at Mickey on the floor.  “I’m sorry - “  he broke off when he saw Mickey was laughing, sprawled out on the carpet with his head thrown back.  

Ian reached down a hand to help him back up but Mickey grabbed it and tugged hard instead, pulling him off the bed and onto the floor as well.

“You know, I might not be that tired after all,”  he murmured in Ian’s ear.

Ian needed no further invitation, pressing his lips to Mickey’s, nipping lightly at his lower lip, enjoying the light groan in response.  His seeking hand, creeping down Mickey’s torso and underneath the waistband of his boxers, confirmed that Mickey had indeed made a fast recovery.  

Mickey groaned again as Ian caressed him, kissing him back harder, and Ian could feel himself stiffening rapidly in response.  Mickey’s hands were at his waist, already starting to tug at Ian’s shorts.

“AWWWW!  You guys are SO cute!” The gratingly cheerful voice was an abrupt splash of icy water on both their heads.  Startled, Ian and Mickey sat up abruptly.

Tasha was perched on the end of their bed, smiling down at them.  She swung her legs, seeming oblivious to their dumbfounded expressions.  “Oh, you don’t have to stop.  I can wait.”

“No, please stop,”  Iggy was framed in the doorway, ruffling his hair with a disgruntled expression.  “I’ve seen enough.  I’d say that you scarred me for life but,”  he traced one of the still red, raised lines that criss-crossed his face.  “Somebody already beat you to it.”

“What the fuck are you guys doing in here?”  Mickey demanded as he and Ian jumped to their feet.  They hadn’t even heard the door open.  They needed to invest in a lock, fast.

“Tasha heard you were back.  Actually, I think the whole building heard you were back. Fuckin’ amazed the bed is still one piece,”  Iggy snickered as Mickey and Ian flushed simultaneously.  “She wants to ask you guys something.”

“Ever heard of knocking?”  Mickey snapped.

Ian was looking around the room for his shirt, trying to avoid Tasha’s blatant stare.  Just as he bent down to reach for it, he was knocked off balance as Tasha suddenly jumped into him, knocking them both onto the bed and then settling herself on his lap before he could move away.  “Nice to see you again, Ian!”  she beamed at him.

“Um...you too?”  Ian stared at her, not exactly sure what to make of Iggy’s girlfriend, or that apparently ‘boundaries’ were a completely foreign and unwelcome concept in her world.  Judging by both Mickey and Iggy’s unsurprised expressions, they were used to it.

“I’m pregnant,”  Tasha was announcing now.

“I can see that,”  Ian told her.  “Congratulations?”

“Thanks!”  Tasha beamed at him again.  “Today we’re having the ultrasound to find out whether it’s a boy or a girl.  I want you guys to go.  It would be good to have some family there,”  

Ian was a little bemused and mildly disarmed by the fact that they’d never even had a conversation before and she was referring to him as family.  Clearly she possessed the unique ability to go from _‘and your name is…?_ ” to BFF 4EVA in six seconds flat.  

“That’s really nice of you,” he told her, wondering how to get out of this.  “But what about your side of the family?”

Tandy frowned.  “What family?  Dad’s in jail, I don’t talk to my mother on account of the time she tried to trade me for crack, and my sister disowned me for getting knocked up by a Milkovich.  You guys are it.”  

“Sorry to hear that,”  Ian gently pushed her off his lap so he could stand up and put on his shirt.  “What’s your dad in jail for?”

Tasha smiled again, looking as if the question brought back good memories.  “Armed robbery.  Knocked over a few stores to give me money to go to my senior prom,”  she sighed.  “Five years.  Dad’s already done two.  He didn’t get as much time as he could have because he used a water pistol instead of a real gun.  I really miss him.  I’m hoping he’ll get more time off for good behavior - he can’t wait to see his grandbaby,” she tilted her head.  “I did get a kickass dress out of it though.”

“Well, as long as it was all worth it then,”  Mickey snickered, looking more amused than pissed off by this point.

“So, you guys are going to go, right?”  Tasha was bouncing on their bed now.  “Please?  Please please please?”

“Sorry, but I think we kinda got plans today,”  Mickey told her, and Tasha’s face fell.  Ian felt like he was looking at a kicked puppy and he couldn’t stop the guilt from welling up.

“Um...maybe we could…”  he exchanged a helpless look with Mickey.

“Yeah, maybe you could,”  Iggy glowered at his brother.  “Besides, you already said you would go, remember?”  

“When?”  Mickey demanded.

“Other night when you were drunk,”  Iggy shrugged.

“That’s not exactly narrowing it down,”  Mickey shot back.  

“Yeah?  Well, it was the same night that you were so wasted you started whimpering like a little bitch over Red here.  I can remind you of what you said if you want,”  Iggy grinned wickedly.

“No!”  Mickey snapped, raising his voice to be heard over Ian, who was voicing his urgent desire to hear every word of Mickey’s love-drunk rantings.  “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Yes!”  Tasha beamed at them.  “What about you, Ian?”

“Nah, Ian’s got to go back to his place and get all his stuff.  You left all your meds there, right?  I don’t want to fuck up your routine,”  Mickey answered for him.

Relief surged into Ian at Mickey’s words.  Looks like the issue of whether he was coming back or not was settled.  

“Take Mandy with you.  She can help,”  Mickey added.  He raised an eyebrow at Ian’s startled look.  “You don’t have to avoid her.  I’m over it, OK?  But I’m going to get un-over it real fucking quick if you two don’t stop acting all twitchy around each other.”  Without waiting for Ian’s response, he started to pull on a pair of socks he’d found balled up on the floor.

“Over what?”  Iggy asked curiously.

“None of your fucking business,”  Mickey was shrugging on a pair of pants.  “Let’s get this show on the road, people.”

“Yay!”  Tasha jumped up and kissed a surprised Ian on the cheek.  “I’ll bring you back the ultrasound pics!”  With that, she grabbed Iggy and hustled him out the door.  “Hurry up, Mickey!  We’ll be in the car!”

“Huh,”  Ian looked after her, feeling a little like he’d been swept up and dropped back down by a fast moving tornado.  

“You get used to her, “  Mickey shrugged.  “Don’t make her mad though, unless you want to pay her bail next time.”  With that, he finished shrugging on his shirt.  “See you in a few hours?”

It was on the tip of Ian’s tongue to ask Mickey if that’s what he really wanted, if they were truly going to just pick up where they left off, but it seemed kind of idiotic to look that gift horse too hard in the mouth,  He nodded instead.  

A few seconds after Mickey had left the room, the door opened and he stuck his head back in.  “Welcome back, asshole,”  With a quick grin, he was gone.

Ian’s answering smile was much more genuine.  OK.   _Now_ it felt official.  

* * *

As Mandy and Ian neared the Gallagher house, they ran into Kev on the sidewalk.  He looked tired and disgruntled, but he managed a small smile when he saw them.

“Ian, Mandy,”  he greeted with a wide yawn.

“What are you doing up this early?”  Ian asked him.

Kev scowled.  “Have to meet some cops at the Alibi.  Lulu’s car was stolen from the parking lot last night - they found it crashed into a ditch this morning.  Personally, I think whoever did it should get a medal, sparing the pedestrians of our fine city from Lulu the Lush’s blackout driving.  But I gotta go and talk to them anyway, since she can’t remember shit about last night.”

“Oh,”  Ian frowned, feeling guilty now that he’d forgotten to call home and warn them about Frank.  Apparently he and Carl had quite the adventure.  “What are you going to tell them?”

Kev looked confused.  “Nothing much.  I don’t know what happened to - “ he registered the expression on Ian’s face.  “Are you fucking kidding me? It was Frank, wasn’t it?  He took the keys out of her purse,” he groaned lightly.  “Don’t worry, I know the drill.  Frank was never there...never saw nothin’...got it,”  shaking his head, he ambled off down the sidewalk.

“Thanks, Kev!”  Ian called after him.

“Fucking Gallaghers!”  Kev yelled in response.

Ian and Mandy entered the house to find Frank and Carl sleeping on opposite sides of the couch, dead to the world.  Aside from their dual snores, the house was quiet.  Apparently no one else was up yet.  

“Most of my stuff is in here,”  Ian grabbed his duffel bag from the corner where he kept it stashed.

Mandy snorted.  “I can see you got real comfortable being back home, the way you never actually unpacked and all.”  She watched him poke around under the couch, pulling out an extra pair of shoes and a few balled up pairs of socks.  He shoved them in the duffel bag and began looking around the living room before gingerly reaching between his father and brother still crashed out on the couch.

“Whatcha looking for?”  Mandy asked as she watched Ian peer underneath couch cushions.

“My notebook.  Maybe it’s in the kitchen,”  Ian dropped his duffel bag and headed that way.

Mandy followed him, watching Ian sigh in relief as he spotted what he was looking for, tucked away to the side of the breakfast bar.  “School stuff?”

Ian shook his head.  “Journal.  My therapist’s idea.”

Mandy chuckled.  “You’re really into that, aren’t you?”

Ian shrugged.  “Didn’t think I would be, but it helps.  Anyway, this is pretty much all I needed - I think I’ve got some more clothes upstairs and that’s it.”

“ ‘K,”  Mandy’s voice trailed off.  Distant laughter from the yard had caught her attention.  She’d just caught sight of Lip through the kitchen window.  Looked like he was draining the pool, another sad reminder that summer was really over.  Amanda was standing next to him, watching it slowly collapse in on itself, laughing and dodging away when Lip reached a hand in and flicked water at her.

Suddenly the blinds were snapped closed.  Mandy blinked in surprise.  Ian had stepped in between her and the window, and was watching her with a sad smile.  

“Um…”  she looked away from his too knowing eyes.  “You said your stuff was upstairs?”

“Mandy,”  Ian ignored her blatant attempt at deflection.  “You know if I thought there was any hope at all of things working out for the two of you, any chance he’d finally get his head out of his ass and treat you right, I’d tell you to go for it.”

“What about Amanda?”  Mandy blurted out then mentally kicked herself.  She shouldn’t be talking about this.  She shouldn’t even be entertaining the _idea_ of this.

“Fuck Amanda,”  Ian shrugged, smiling slightly at Mandy’s expression.  “I like her and all, but Lip’s just going to dick her over at some point anyway.  I’m not going to waste my time getting attached,”  his smile faded.  “Thing is, Mandy, you’re worth more than what he’s got to give.  You gotta know that.”

“Thanks,”  Mandy squeezed his hand.  “C’mon.  Let’s get your shit and - “  Before Mandy could finish, the back door opened, and the two of them watched Fiona sidle in, looking warily around.  The skin tight dress she wore was clearly left over from last night, though all her makeup appeared to have been rubbed off.  She carried her high heel shoes in one hand, and a pair of grocery bags in the other.

For a moment, Fiona looked greatly relieved, then she spotted them and jumped slightly.  “Shit.”

“Fiona!”  Ian was grinning widely.  “Is this a walk of shame?”

Fiona gritted her teeth before she smiled guiltily.  “Maybe.”

Mandy and Ian exchanged amused looks before Mandy cocked her head.  “Wait a second.  Weren’t you at the pussy parade with Svetlana?”

Fiona flushed as Ian’s eyes widened.  “Seriously?   _The biker chick?_ ”

Mandy started laughing even as Fiona glared.  “Look who just caught a one way train to Queersville!  Maybe it runs in the family after all.”

“Thank you for your always colorful commentary, Mandy,”  Fiona snapped.   “I won't be filling out my rainbow membership card just yet.  It was...you know...kinda a one time thing,”  Fiona shrugged as she set down the bags.  “I picked up some supplies for breakfast.  You two want to help me make it?”

“Actually, Fiona, we’re…”  Ian’s voice trailed off.  He was looking suddenly abashed.

“Oh!”  Fiona’s eyes drifted past them, to the living room where Ian’s overstuffed duffel bag was clearly visible, leaning against the couch.  “I take it you worked things out with Mickey.”

Ian nodded, and Fiona beamed, throwing her arms around him.  “That’s fantastic.  Really.  I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks,”  Ian smiled back as they separated, but his face was still nervous.  “Fiona, you know that means - “

“You’re leaving,”  Fiona was still smiling, but he could see the sadness behind it now.  “I know,”  she sighed.  “You gotta go where it feels like home.  I want to believe that this is it for you, but I know it’s not.”

“Thanks,”  Ian looked over at Mandy, who had stepped back, feeling suddenly awkward when the conversation had taken a turn towards the emotional.  “I guess we should head upstairs and get the rest of my shit.”

“I think you can handle that yourself, Ian,”  Fiona’s gaze had turned thoughtful.  “Mandy, help me unload these bags?”

Mandy started to object, but Fiona had flashed Ian a significant look and the traitor was already dashing up the stairs, leaving her no choice but to step up to the counter and start pulling out groceries.

“So,”  Fiona’s tone was deceptively casual, like Mandy didn’t know she was building up to something.  “Ian’s moving back in with you guys.”

“Looks like,”  Mandy said flatly as she turned to open a cupboard, shoving a bag of pancake mix inside.

“I hope it’s not going to be awkward for the three of you, considering everything that’s happened,”  Fiona straightened up from where she’d been putting a carton of eggs in the fridge.

Mandy slammed the bottle of syrup she’d been about to put away back on the counter.  “So that’s what this is about,”  she turned to Fiona, eyes flashing.  “You want to make sure I’m isn’t going to corrupt your poor innocent little brother again, right?  You don’t have to warn me.  I know how bad I fucked up.  I’m not going to do it again.  Happy now?”

“Believe it or not, I’m actually concerned about you too, Mandy,”  Fiona snapped back, putting her hands on her hips.  “Yeah, I’m not too thrilled about the fact that you gave Ian acid, but it was his own fault too.  That’s not what I was getting at.  I just - I know how important you are to Ian.  I don’t want him to feel like he has to choose between you and Mickey.”

“Mickey and I worked things out,”  Mandy balled up the empty grocery bags and stalked across the kitchen to shove them in a drawer.  “So you don’t have to worry.”

“Good,”  Fiona sat down on the nearest stool, rubbing her eyes.  “Grab me a frying pan, would you?”

Mandy had been about to follow Ian upstairs, but clearly, Fiona wasn’t done with her.  Grumbling under her breath, she bent down and retrieved a pan from the lower cupboard, passing it over.

“Ian’s about to start online courses to get his diploma,”  Fiona opened the fridge again and began hauling out food.  “I’m counting on you to make sure he doesn’t get too distracted with Mickey to keep up with that.”

“Yeah, sure,”  Mandy leaned against the counter, rolling her eyes.  

“Here, crack some eggs,”  Fiona shoved a glass bowl at her and pushed the carton of eggs over.

Mandy sighed heavily, but she did as she was told, knowing Fiona was not going to shut up until she had said everything she wanted to say.

“You could do the same thing,”  Fiona was saying now as she dropped butter in the frying pan and switched on the burner.  “Ian has all the information.  There’s still time to get you signed up.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,”  Mandy cracked the last egg and reached for a whisk.  “My school days are definitely behind me.”

“Why?”  Fiona straightened up, setting down the spatula she’d just picked up.  Her tone was frustrated.  “You just want to work for tips at that grubby little diner for the rest of your life?”

“Look who’s talking,”  Mandy snorted.

“Yeah,”  Fiona yanked the bowl of whisked eggs over to her with an angry jerk.  “Look who’s talking.  Somebody who knows what it feels like to end up in a dead end,”  she locked eyes with Mandy.  “Do you know why I didn’t like you, Mandy?  Why I didn’t want you with Lip?  Because you reminded me of me.  Just another hood girl, too smart to be trapped here and too stubborn to believe she could get out.  One look at you, and I knew you weren’t going anywhere.  I didn’t want Lip to be stuck with you."

"Wish granted," Mandy snapped, turning away so Fiona couldn’t see what her words were doing to her.  "We done here?"

"Hey," Fiona caught her by the arm.  "I'm trying to say I was wrong, ok?  I shouldn’t have looked at you like you were my reflection.  You can do so much with your life, go anywhere, be anything.  I just hate to see you sell yourself short the way you are.”

Mandy stared at her in blatant disbelief.  “Since when do you care?”

Fiona shrugged as she began to pour the eggs into the sizzling pan.  “Since I do.  Since I realized that you and your brother aren’t going away anytime soon.  Since you got Lip into college.  Since I watched you spend months taking care of Ian.  Since Debbie told me about how you chased off that little punk Toby.”

“So you think you owe me?”  Mandy snorted.  “Whatever.  Am I supposed to be grateful or something?  You looked down on me and you treated me like shit.  If you feel guilty about it now, good.”  

“Hey, this isn’t all on me.”  Fiona glared back at her.  “You haven’t exactly been a sweetheart to me either, remember?”

They continued to glower at each other as the back door opened again.  This time it was V, walking in.  “Hey, Fi - “  she broke off as she saw Mandy standing there, the tension between the two of them clearly not lost on her.  “What did I just walk in on?”

Ignoring her, Mandy turned back to Fiona.  “Get this straight right now - I don’t think the sun shines out of your ass like everyone else around here does.  I don’t jump when you say, and I’m not going to play my role in your ‘Fiona saves the world’ fantasy just to make you feel better.  What I do, or do not do, is none of your fucking business, and there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it,”

With that, she whirled around to head upstairs, stopping only to shoot V a scathing look.  “ _Skankovich_ _out_ ,” she bit off before she disappeared up the staircase.

V grimaced, looking after her.  “What the fuck was that about?”

Fiona sighed, stirring the eggs.  “That girl has been a pain in my ass since the first day she walked through our door,”  she gestured at the cupboard.  “I told her she should go back to school.  You heard how that went over.  So fucking stubborn.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,”  V leaned forward, snagging a bite from the pan.  “Kinda reminds me of someone else I know.”

Fiona huffed out an exasperated breath as she turned the stove off and reached for a stack of plates in the above cupboard.  “Yeah, well, unlike me, Mandy doesn’t have a felony on her record.  She could still do something with her life.  It makes me crazy that she won’t even try!”

“I get it,”  V took the plate that Fiona handed her and started filling it with eggs.  “But she’s right.  There’s nothing you can about it.”

Fiona scowled for a moment before suddenly brightening.  “Maybe I can’t,”  she agreed, grinning as she reached for her cell phone.  “But I’m pretty sure I know someone who can…”

* * *

 

The next morning, Mandy was in the kitchen, scraping the remains of her breakfast into the trash when there was a loud rapping at the door.  She didn’t pay much attention as Mickey went to answer it.

 An unfamiliar female voice drifted over to her.

“I’m looking for Mandy Milkovich,”  The words were polite, but they rang with an authority that had Mandy instantly on edge.  Mickey stepped back from the door that he’d only partly opened to send her a look warning her to stay out of sight before he turned back to the unseen figure, his face wrinkled perplexedly.

A minute later his expression cleared.  “Aren’t you Fiona Gallagher’s P.O.?”  he asked.  

“This is not an official visit, and it’s not regarding Fiona, but yes.   Now may I please speak to Mandy?”  There was a warning tinge of impatience in her request now.

“She ain’t here,”  Mickey snapped.  He started to slam the door shut, and Mandy saw the foot that jumped out to stop the door from closing.

“Mr. Milkovich,”  The voice was definitely pissed now.  “Please go get your sister before I do decide to make an official visit...to the _Alibi_.  I don’t think either you or your dubiously legal wife would like that very much.”

Mandy saw Mickey clench his jaw, his eyes flashing dangerously.  He didn’t respond well to threats.  Before her brother could explode, Mandy rushed forward.  

“I’m right here,”  she said, joining Mickey and finally able to see the speaker, who turned out to be an attractive, vaguely familiar black woman.  

“Ms.  Milkovich,”  the woman held out her hand and Mandy reluctantly palmed it for a brief second.  “I’m Gail Johnson.  Nice to meet you.  Now do me a favor, get your shoes on and make sure you have I.D. on you.  Hurry up; I don’t want to be late.”  

“Late for what?”  Mandy demanded.

Gail Johnson gestured impatiently.  “We can discuss it in the car.”

“I don’t think so!”  Mandy and Mickey exchanged amazed looks.  “I’m not going anywhere with you.  Plus, I gotta work.”

“No, you don’t,”  The woman narrowed her eyes.  “I went to your work before I came here and informed your boss you needed the day off with pay.”

Mandy snorted.  “Right.  Ollie would never agree to that.”

Officer Johnson shrugged.  “He would if I told him I was from the Health Department and was considering shutting him down for code violations.  Not the brightest man, your employer.”

“Whatever,”  Mandy folded her arms across her chest.  “I’m still not going.”

“It’s cute how you think I’m asking.  Now move your ass.  I’ll be in the car.  You’re not there in five, I’m coming back in and I’m going to make your life real difficult, not that you’re not already doing a bang up job of that yourself.”  With that, Gail turned and walked out, letting the door swing shut behind her.

“What the fuck is this all about?”  Mickey demanded when she was gone.

“Fuck if I know,”  Mandy threw herself on the couch, gritting her teeth in aggravation.  “I think Fiona sent her.  She thinks I should go back to school.”

Mickey considered that for a minute.  “Huh,”  he shrugged.  “Maybe you should go see what this is all about, then.”

Mandy stared at him.  “Come on, not you too!  Another convert to the Temple of Fiona.  Fucking traitor.”

Mickey didn’t even have the decency to look properly embarrassed at that.  “I’m just saying, it might not be a bad idea.”

“Fine,”  Mandy stood up, feeling more resentful by the moment.  She jerked on her shoes angrily.  “I’m only doing this for you and Svetlana, you know.  We don’t need any more fucking trouble.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the thought,”  Mickey picked up Mandy’s purse from the coffee table and handed it to her.  Next thing she knew, he was hustling her out the front door.  “But for once, do something for your fucking self.”  With that, he shut the door in her face.

“Dickhead!”  she yelled through the door.

“Fucktwat!”  she heard him call back and she could hear the rattle of the chainlock being attached.

With no other choice, she turned and stomped down the hallway.

* * *

“So where are we going?”  Mandy demanded, pulling on her seatbelt as Gail drove, looking a little more smug than Mandy was in the mood to appreciate at the moment.

“I managed to get a last minute appointment with Darren Morgenstrom at the community college.  He screens applicants for all sorts of different educational programs.  He’s going to have you take a placement test, and we’ll discuss what options are available to you,”  Gail informed her.  She raised an eyebrow at Mandy’s scowl.  “Don’t say thank you or anything.”

“Why are you doing this?  Did Fiona tell you I’m some kind of charity case or something?”  Mandy challenged.

Gail heaved a sigh.  “Actually, the word that Fiona used regarding you was ‘family,”  she smiled slightly as Mandy’s angry expression faded into surprise.  “She also said you were a stubborn-as-fuck pain in the ass who’d be sure to give me a hard time.  I can see she was not wrong.”

Mandy shook her head slowly.  “You’re wasting your time,”  she muttered, more to herself than anything.  “This isn’t going to do any good.”

Abruptly, Gail yanked the wheel and they were pulling over to the curb.  She jerked the car to a stop and turned to Mandy, who was already reaching for her seatbelt, figuring she was getting thrown out.

“Why is that, hmm?  Tell me why this isn’t going to do you any good,”  Gail raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

Mandy bit her lip hard, not speaking.

“That’s what I thought.  You don’t even know, do you?  You’re just so used to setting yourself up for failure it’s automatic.  You’ve forgotten how to even try.  Haven’t you ever had dreams, Mandy?  Ever wanted something better for yourself?”

“Maybe,”  Mandy refused to meet her eyes.  “But I’m not smart.  I was never good in school.  I couldn’t keep up - I didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about half the time.”

“Not smart, my ass,”  Gail snorted.  “I’ve spent five minutes with you and I can already tell you’re no dummy.  As far as not being good at school, welcome to my world.  I’m dyslexic.  Nobody figured that out til I was sixteen years old and about one day away from dropping out myself.  We’ve all got challenges.  Only thing that’s stopping you is you.”  

“You sound like a fucking PSA,”  Mandy snickered.

“Yeah, well, what you sound like is someone who covers up with a snappy comeback when the truth hurts.  Am I right?”  

Gail waited a moment but Mandy was silent again.  “You asked why I was doing this.  It’s not for Fiona, if that’s what you think.  I see women like you a lot.  I see them when I’m giving them their parole conditions.  I see them when I’m busting them on a violation.  I see them in the hospital after their boyfriends have beaten the shit out of them, or they’ve OD’d.  Sometimes I even get to identify them in the morgue.”

“Every single time, I wish I could have met that person sooner.  I wish I could have talked to her when she was still standing at that crossroads before she took the wrong turn.  I wish I could have given her another choice.  And here you are, Mandy Milkovich.  I can help before you go down that road.  And believe me, that’s exactly the path you’re on.  How long before whatever you’re doing to yourself isn’t enough to stop you from feeling whatever it is that you’ve been trying to outrun?  And when you’re looking for something else to make you forget, what’s it going to be?  A needle?  A knife?  Your boyfriend’s fists?”  

Startled, Mandy began an explosive oath that was immediately quelled by the blazing look Gail shot her.  

“Fiona didn’t tell me shit about that,”  she snapped, “You think today was the first time I’ve heard about you?  It’s not, by far. The Milkovichs have quite a reputation with law enforcement,” she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.  “I’m going to leave this up to you.  I told you already that I don’t think you’re stupid.  You want to prove me wrong, go ahead and get out of the car.  I give it six months before your case file shows up on my desk.”

Mandy continued to look straight ahead, feeling Gail’s gaze boring into her.  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a test,” she finally said.  

The corners of Gail’s mouth twitched at that, but she didn’t say anything else, just turned the car back and then they were zipping through traffic, on their way.

* * *

Two hours later Mandy was back in Gail’s car, flipping through the stack of paperwork on her lap.  

“You’ve got a few choices there,”  Gail told her as she drove back towards Mandy’s neighborhood.  

Mandy read over the sheet she was holding.  “There’s really a program where they give you money if you get good grades?”  she asked.

“There certainly is,”  Gail smiled.  “They don’t just give it to you to spend; they hold it for you to put towards college.  It’s a great program.  And Darren said he’d put your application at the top of the list if you’re willing to commit to it.”

“College…”  Mandy mused.

“Why not?”  Gail was giving her a significant side eye.  “You heard Darren.  He said while you’re a little behind where you should be academically, he didn’t see any reason at all why you shouldn’t do very well.  This is his job.  He doesn’t just say these things to be nice, and he wouldn’t be willing to put you at the head of the line if he didn’t think you could do it.  This could open a lot of doors for you.  So, what do you say?”

“Yeah,”  Mandy nodded.  “Why not?  I mean...I want to give it a try,”  she had a feeling she should try to be more positive, but she had a vastly limited supply of optimism and those few words had just used it all up.

Gail didn’t seem to be offended.  “Good.  Now keep in mind, I don’t stick my neck out for just anyone.  If you fuck this up, it’s going to be a lot harder for me to get Darren to give the next one I bring him a chance.  You’d better get used to seeing me. I’m going to be on you on white on rice.  ”  

“Couldn’t be more excited,”  Mandy said drily.   Suddenly, she realized where they were.  “Wait - can you let me out here?”

Gail looked confused, but she pulled over anyway.  “You sure?”

Mandy looked at the time displayed on the dashboard clock and nodded.  “Yeah,”  she climbed out of the car and turned back.   “Hey…”  she hesitated for a minute.  “Thanks.”

Gail smiled.  “Don’t forget to say it to Fiona next time you see her too,”

Mandy groaned slightly at that.  “Whatever.”

Once Gail’s car was out of sight, Mandy headed up the steps of the community center she’d requested to be dropped off in front of.  After Debbie had dragged her to that one meeting there, she’d gone back by herself a couple of times.  Debbie would have come with her if she’d asked, but as much as she appreciated the kid for trying, there were some things that Debbie just couldn’t understand.  Things that Mandy could never talk about in front of her.  

But the other people that sat in that room with her, they understood.  That almost made it worse in some ways; listening to them talk was like reliving it all over again, hearing the creak of her bedroom door in the middle of the night, the feel of her father’s hands on her skin coming back to life, multiplying that by adding all of their stories to hers, having to feel what they felt too.  At the same time, it was such a relief to not have to pretend anymore, and it was that feeling that had kept her coming back.

Mandy was feeling hesitant now though.  Maybe she needed to talk about it sometimes - she could admit that now.  But sitting in that room was also like volunteering to rip her own guts out, and she didn’t know if she had it in her right now.  Plus, she was a couple of minutes late - she preferred to come early and sit as far back as possible, easy to overlook if she didn’t feel like saying anything.  If she walked in now, there was no way she could stay under the radar.

Still undecided, Mandy dug a half smoked cigarette out of her pocket and lit it, thinking it over.  Just as she'd decided to go, a blue van pulled noisily up to the curb, the side door slid open, and a young, vaguely familiar blonde girl climbed out.

As soon as the girl was on the sidewalk, she leaned forward to talk through the open passénger side window to the unseen driver.  "Mom, I don't want to go to this stupid meeting!"  

Even from where she was standing, Mandy could hear the exasperated sigh in response.  "Bonnie, the social worker says you have to.  Do you want them to take you away again?"

The girl shook her head frantically, and Mandy could see her mother now, a tired looking woman, younger than anyone with that amount of kids should be, leaning over in the seat.  "Ok then.  Go in there and pretend to go along with this bullshit so I can get that bitch off our backs.  I'll see you in an hour, alright?"

Without another word, she sped off, leaving Bonnie standing there staring after her.  After a few seconds Bonnie turned back to look up at the community center, apprehension and defiance written all over her face.  She took a tentative step forward, then shook her head.  "Fuck this," Mandy heard her mutter as she turned to leave.

Mandy threw her cigarette down, grinding it out underneath her shoe, and descended the steps.  "Hey," she called after the girl, and she turned, expression wary.

"Yeah?"  

“Bonnie, right?  Don’t you hang out with Carl Gallagher?”

The girl nodded.  “Yeah,”  she looked her over curiously.  “Mandy Milkovich, right?”  she waited for Mandy’s affirming nod.  “Did you want something?”

"I'll go in with you if you want," Mandy jerked her head towards the building.  

Bonnie looked startled.  “You been to one of these group things before?”

Mandy nodded again.  “Yeah. You don't have to talk if you don’t want to," she continued.  "We can just sit in the back."

Bonnie hesitated for a moment, looking like a bird arrested mid-flight that could take off again any moment.  “What’s it like?”

Mandy shrugged.  “It’s not so bad.  Kinda helps to know you’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” Bonnie smiled at last.  “Guess so.”

And with that, they ascended the steps together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random Note: There really is a school program in Chicago like the one Mandy and Gail are discussing or at least there was. Thank you, Google. I hope it's still going - it sounds like something that could motivate a lot of people who'd otherwise give up.
> 
> Anyway, sorry about the long wait in between chapters! This is another long one, to hopefully make up for it a little (I don't think I'm capable of writing short chapters anymore, if we're being perfectly honest). 
> 
> And also...a little announcement: Svetlana is the only one of my core four in SCL who's never had her own narrative. I always thought that was because she didn't have much to say to me - well, I was beyond wrong, because she's started screaming in my head lately. So as Semi-Charmed Life winds down (I estimate two to three more chapters), I'm going to begin her story. I'm actually hoping to have the first chapter out soon, and as eventually it will work as a companion piece to SCL, I hope some of you might enjoy it.
> 
> Thanks again SO MUCH for reading and commenting. All of your support and feedback has been a true delight.


	23. The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mickey begins to pull away, Ian doesn't know how to bring him back, and Lip picks a bad time to bring things to a head with Mandy.
> 
> Part 1 of the Semi-Charmed Life finale!

 

The grey house was unnaturally quiet, the morning cacophony of a typical Gallagher family morning had long faded, the various family members shuttling off to school, work, or in the case of Sammi and Frank, undoubtedly illicit activities best performed in the shadows.

The quiet wasn’t doing Mandy any good.  She flipped through the stapled worksheet she was reading one more time, unable to stop the loud sigh as she read the latest question one more time.

“You OK there?”  Ian looked up from the breakfast bar where he was sitting across from her. She could tell it was hard for him to summon concern for her at the moment - he looked distracted, nearly fogged over, and looking at the incomprehensible numbers on the page in front of him, she could imagine why.

Unable to hide her frustration, Mandy slapped the worksheet back down.  “Listen to the fucking assignment that came with our reading this week.”  Returning to the sheet, she read out loud, “Include a visual associated with the character and explanation of symbolism themes’...what the fuck does that even mean?”

Ian gave her a sympathetic grimace.  “Hell if I know.  I’m just trying to survive Algebra.”

Mandy slapped the worksheet down on the counter.  “Why did we sign up for this?”

“Gluttons for punishment,”  Ian sighed, putting down his pencil.  “We succumbed to peer pressure and the collective family guilt trip.  We drank the KoolAid.  Suckers Today for a Better Tomorrow and all that.”

Mandy groaned, resting her head on the counter.  “I don’t think I can do this, Ian,”  she admitted, her voice muffled against her arm.  “I mean...I’m not a fucking quitter.  But this shit is like...I really don’t get it.”

Ian patted her arm.  “You can’t bail now.  It’ll get easier.  You’re just not used to actually putting in an effort academically,” he grinned as she lifted her head to shoot him a dirty look.  “At least we’re doing it together, right?”  he shot her his sweetest smile at that, the one that always melted her and made him fucking impossible to be annoyed with.  

“Yeah, OK,”  Mandy sighed.  She’d save the assignment until she could talk to her instructor, as much as she hated the idea of having to admit she needed help.  That decided, she turned her attention to Ian.  He was bent over his worksheet again, but his face was blank, eyes distant, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t comprehending anything on the page.

“Hey,” she kicked his stool and he jolted upright.  “Everything OK?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great…”  Ian smiled again but his tone was falsely jovial, the one he usually used around his family when he wanted to get them off his back.

“Cut the shit,”  she kicked him directly this time.  “What’s up?”

“Nothing -”  Ian began and then sighed, dropping the pretense.  “Have you noticed that Mickey’s been acting - I dunno.  He’s just been kinda weird.  Withdrawn.”

Mandy chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered this.  Truth be told, she had noticed.  Ian had been back home with them for a few weeks now and at first, it seemed like he and Mickey were blissfully happy.  At least that’s what she guessed from their frequent mutual absences and the loud noises emanating at all hours from their bedroom.  When they did emerge, they still seemed like they couldn’t get enough of each other; always touching, laughing, talking in whispers - she would have considered it downright disgusting if the two of them weren’t so damn cute.

But lately Mickey had grown quieter and short-tempered, quick to snap at even the simplest questions.  And Ian wasn’t wrong about him being withdrawn.  He’d barely been home lately; always had an excuse to be somewhere else, either the Alibi or the Fairy Tail, where he’d been picking up extra shifts every chance he got.  When Mandy had made some offhand remark about it, Mickey had barked out something about them needing the extra money, which was news to her.  They weren’t exactly rolling in it, but between the four of them and Tasha and Iggy kicking in too, they’d actually been covering expenses pretty well.

“Maybe,” she finally responded.  Looking at Ian’s worried expression made her heart clench.  “Look, Ian, I know you think you got the patent on mood swings but Mickey gets cranky.  It’s just how he is sometimes, like the guy rag or something.   Give him time.  He’ll come around,”  she couldn’t help but chuckle to herself quietly at the irony of her words - it didn’t seem that long ago that she was saying the same thing to Mickey about Ian.

“I don’t know,”  Ian was biting his lip.  “Mandy, tell me the truth.  Do you think we rushed things?  Maybe he’s regretting that I moved back in so fast.”

“No fucking way,”  Mandy shook her head emphatically.  “You should have seen Mickey while you were gone.  Believe me, he wants you with him.  He’s just being his usual charming self,”  she shoved Ian’s shoulder lightly, snickering.   

“OK,”  Mandy could see that Ian wasn’t entirely convinced, but he seemed willing to drop it anyway.  He turned back to his work, looking as though he was forcing himself to concentrate, and Mandy took that as her cue to look over her English assignment again.  She should be able to bullshit a couple of questions, make at least look like she tried before she threw herself on her teacher’s sure to be limited mercy.

“Hey, what are you two doing here?”

Mandy felt her heart sink into her shoes at the clatter of footsteps and the sound of Lip’s voice.  He was framed in the kitchen doorway, carrying his backpack, Amanda beside him, balancing a stack of books.

“Studying.  Iggy and Tasha were fighting over baby names.  Can’t exactly concentrate at home once those two get going,” Ian looked at his brother and then Mandy warily.  “Guess we should call it a day, huh?” he started to stand up; Mandy quick to follow.

“Oh, don’t leave on account of us,”  Lip sauntered over to the kitchen table and tossed down his backpack.  After a few second’s hesitation, Amanda followed.  “We were planning on doing the same thing.  It’ll be like a study group,”  he looked up at that and his eyes were fixed on Mandy, the challenge clear.  Abruptly, she sat back down.  

“Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth.  “Another hour and I should be finished anyway.”

Ian was eyeing her suspiciously.  “Thought you said you didn’t understand all that symbolism crap.”

Mandy glared at Ian even as Lip’s face lit up.  “Let me take a look, Mandy.  Bet I could give you some ideas.”

“Back the fuck off,”  Mandy nearly snarled the words.  Amanda and Ian’s heads were whipping back and forth between them as if watching volleys at a tennis match.  

“C’mon, Mandy, it’s not a weakness to need help,”  Lip’s eyes were sparkling.  He was enjoying this, that smug son of a bitch, so sure he had her cornered.  “Take advantage of my advanced intellect and can do spirit while you’ve got a chance.”

Mandy gripped her pencil so hard in her fist it threatened to snap, battling back her intense desire to stab him with it.  After a few deep breaths, she spoke again.  “You’re right, Lip.  I do need someone really smart to help me out,”  she smiled blandly back at him and then looked deliberately at his girlfriend.  “Hey, Amanda, got a few minutes?”

Amanda looked surprised but pleased.  “Sure!”  she tossed her books to her stunned looking boyfriend.  “Can you put those on the table?”  With that she pulled up another chair next to Mandy and picked up the book lying next to her.  “This is what you’re reading?”

“Wait a second -”  Lip started to object.

Amanda threw him a cool look. “Babe, do you think you can make us some sandwiches?”  she turned back to Mandy.  “Gotta keep your blood sugar up during these massive study sessions, right?”

“Definitely,”  Mandy said innocently, enjoying the expression on Lip’s face more by the second.

“Fine,”  Lip muttered.  “My girlfriend can be my ex-girlfriend’s special study buddy and I’ll...make snacks, I guess,”  he walked over to the fridge.

“Don’t forget to make me a sandwich too!”  Ian called over his shoulder, and Amanda covered up her snicker at that with a loud bout of fake coughing.  At that, Mandy was internally forced to concede that not only was Amanda not as bad as she’d thought, for a rich bitch, the chick was actually kind of cool.  

And if it came with the added bonus of making her ex boyfriend even slightly as uncomfortable as he'd made her for months, maybe this whole school thing would be worth it after all.

* * *

Mickey and Svetlana still weren’t home when Mandy and Ian got back to the apartment.  To their relief, Iggy and Tasha seemed to have made up - the only sign of them was their closed bedroom door.  Geno had been napping in his crib - the sound of the door woke him up and he immediately bounced to his unsteady legs, practicing his new ability to stand up while hanging on to his crib bars.  Mandy went immediately over to pick him up.

“Can you believe there’s going to be two of them in here soon if Iggy and Tasha don’t get their place?”  Mandy indicated the ultrasound scan taped the the fridge with IT’S A GIRL!  written at the top in cheery pink glitter-marker as she bounced Geno in her arms.  “How are we going to fit everyone in?”  

“We’ll manage,”  Ian reassured her.  “You should have seen some of the places Monica and Frank squeezed all of us into when we were little.”  

Just as Ian set his backpack down, his phone buzzed and he checked the screen to see a text from Mickey.   **Home in a few.**

Humming happily to himself, Ian opened the fridge and started taking out supplies for dinner.  He felt a little stupid now, how overdramatic he’d gotten with Mandy earlier about Mickey’s grumpiness the last few days.  They’d both been stretched so thin lately they’d hardly had any time together between Mickey’s extra shifts and Ian’s online classes and need to study.  Maybe that was all Mickey was reacting to - Ian was feeling the lack of intimacy too, especially after they’d been practically glued together after he had moved back home.  At least they’d both be home tonight together.

A few minutes later, Mickey and Svetlana walked in.  Svetlana went straight to her son, lifting him out of Mandy’s arms, and Mickey joined Ian in the kitchen.   He was carrying two steaming cardboard boxes.

“Dinner,” he announced unceremoniously, setting the boxes on the counter.  

“Oh!  OK,”  Ian frowned at the boxes.   “I thought you and me were going to make hamburgers tonight though.  Indoor barbecue, remember?  Our last goodbye to summer?”

“Oh, yeah,”  Mickey scratched his head.  “Sorry.  I forgot.  We can do it tomorrow night though.”

“I gotta work tomorrow night,”  Ian reminded him.  

“Right.  Sorry,”  Mickey shrugged.  “We’ll figure something out.”

“Sure,”  Ian turned away and started putting the food back in the fridge, trying to cover up his hurt feelings.  It hadn’t been the grandest plan. but he’d liked the idea of the two of them doing something together, even as simple as cooking dinner, and the fact that Mickey didn’t seem to care wasn’t doing his self-esteem any favors.

“Hey,”  Ian felt Mickey’s hand on his back and he turned around to see his boyfriend contemplating him carefully.  “Really, I’m sorry.  It was a long day.  I spaced.”

“It’s OK,”  Ian turned back to Mickey, feeling instantly better.  “Aren’t you forgetting something though?”  He stepped closer when Mickey looked at him curiously.  “ _Hello_ ,” he said significantly.

Mickey’s quizzical expression faded into something else entirely.  “Yeah... _hello_ ,”  he breathed back before closing the gap between them.  

Ian fell into the kiss easily, tasting Mickey on his tongue, gasping a little when Mickey nipped at his lower lip lightly, something he was more than aware drove Ian wild.  

“Hey, is that pizza?”  

Ian and Mickey ignored Iggy’s inquiry even as they felt him brush past them to grab a slice, but the fact that he stood right next to them, chewing directly in their ears, was a little harder to ignore.  Mickey finally stepped back from Ian with a muttered curse, turning to his older brother impatiently.  “The fuck, Iggy?  What do you want?”

Iggy grinned.  “To piss you off,” with that, he took his half eaten pizza and sauntered into the living room to join Tasha and Svetlana on the couch, calling over his shoulder, “Everybody’s gotta have a dream, Mickey.  Thanks for making mine come true!”

“Dickhead,”  Mickey rolled his eyes before he took the plate Ian handed him and served them both several slices.  “So what did you do all day?”  he leaned back on the counter to survey Ian with an easy smile before he took a bite of his pizza.

“Nothing much.  Went over to the house with Mandy to study for a while,”  Ian leaned on the counter opposite.

“Yeah,”  It was Mandy who was chiming in now as she leaned over the counter from the living room to fill her own plate.  “Finally got my English assignment done.  Amanda helped me, and she said that she gets credit for tutoring, so she offered to go over other stuff with me too when I need it.  I might actually make it through this school shit after all.”

Mickey looked confused.  “Who the fuck is Amanda?”  he demanded.

“Sorority Bitch,”  Mandy explained.

Mickey’s eyes narrowed.  “Asshole’s new piece?  The one you were freaking out about because you kept running into the two of them all over town?”

Mandy flushed.  “That was then.  I’m over it, alright?  She’s actually kinda decent.  Plus you should have seen Lip’s face,”  she and Ian mutually snickered at that, at first failing to see the warning signs cloud Mickey’s features.

“Lip was there too?”  Mickey demanded.  He set down his plate with a thud.  “What the fuck, Mandy?  Why the hell are you getting all twisted up with him again?”

“What?”  Mandy looked as stunned as Ian felt.  “I’m not getting - we just ran into them, that’s all!”  

“Yeah.  And now you’re letting his fucking girlfriend tutor you.  Because the more time you spend with her, the quicker your path is to him.  Jesus Christ, Mandy, you need to stay the fuck away from both of them.”  

Mandy slammed her own plate down on top of Mickey’s.  “I’m not trying to get back together with Lip!”  she fumed at her brother.  “But you know what, if I was, it would be none of your fucking business, alright?”  Mickey started to respond to that, but Mandy cut him off.  “Ian’s right.  You really have been a dick lately.”  With that, she stormed out of the kitchenette, disappearing in the direction of her room.

“You said that about me?”  Mickey turned to trap Ian in his glare.  Ian didn’t miss the undercurrent of hurt in his tone.

“No!”  Ian started to protest.  Thanks a fucking lot, Mandy.  “What I said was, I was worried because -”

“You know what?  Never fucking mind,”  Mickey snapped, not allowing Ian to finish.  “I’m too tired for this bullshit.  I’m going to bed.”

Ian stood there, watching Mickey storm off, wincing as the bedroom door slammed behind him.  Well... _shit_.

* * *

Ian wanted to follow Mickey right away, clear this stupid shit up, but he forced himself to wait nearly an hour before he went to bed too.  The bedroom was dark when Ian entered, and he could barely see Mickey, lying on his back at the far end of their bed.

He pulled off everything except his boxers and climbed into bed besides Mickey.  His boyfriend didn’t acknowledge his presence, but Ian could see he was awake, his eyes glinting slightly in the dim room as he stared up at the ceiling.

Mickey, what's going on?"  he asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Mickey said flatly, still staring at the ceiling.  “Tired.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the way you're actively not sleeping,” Ian scoffed.  He eased himself closer.  “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing, I already told you!”

Ian exhaled impatiently.  “So you went off on Mandy for no reason then?”

There was a shifting in the mattress as Mickey turned over to face Ian.  “C’mon, Ian.  You know what she went through with that asshole.  You really want to see the replay?”

“No,”  Ian admitted.   “But it’s not my decision.  It’s not yours either.  You can’t take care of everybody.  Sometimes you just gotta have a little faith that they can take care of themselves.”

“We still talking about Mandy?”  Mickey propped his head up on his hand.

Ian smiled slightly.  “Not so much.”

They were both silent for a long moment, then Mickey closed the rest of the gap between them.  “Sorry.  I know I’ve been...I don’t know.  I just got a lot of shit on my mind.”

“Yeah, I figured that.  Want to share any of it?”  

Mickey rolled his eyes.  “Do me a favor.  Save that sharing is caring psychobabble for your therapy sessions.”

“Mickey,”  Ian gritted his teeth.  “Shit’s bugging you.  You’ve been weird for a while now.  Did I do something wrong?  Just fucking talk to me.”   

“I got a better idea,”  Mickey shifted even closer and Ian sucked in a breath as he felt Mickey’s hardness press against him.  

“Come on, Mickey,”  he said impatiently, even as Mickey rubbed more deliberately and there was no way he could stop the shudder that ran all through him in response.  “How’s this going to work if we keep doing shit the exact same way we did before?  We just going to fuck all our problems away?”

“Sounds good to me,”  Mickey grinned and Ian nearly bit his own lip off when he felt the other man’s teeth lightly nip at his neck.

Before he lost it completely and admitted that plan was starting to sound pretty damn good to him too, he mustered all of his strength of will and pushed Mickey away.  “Forget it.  I’m too tired,” he mimicked Mickey’s excuse from earlier, lying through his teeth as he turned over and closed his eyes.

“Oh, I see.  Honey’s got a headache, right?”  Mickey chuckled.  His fingers lightly drifted down Ian’s bare back, raising goosebumps wherever he touched.  “In that case, Firecrotch, why don’t you let me drive?”

Ian’s eyes popped back open at that and he was instantly so hard that he was throbbing.  Mickey moved against his back, slow and deliberate, and Ian didn’t need to see his face to know he was wearing the devil’s own grin.  

And hell if the flesh wasn’t weak as fuck.  He turned back to Mickey, pulling him over to him with a groan.

They’d talk in the morning.

* * *

As it turned out, they didn’t have time to talk in the morning, something Ian would have remembered if he hadn’t been so busy letting his dick make all his decisions for him.  He had to jump out of bed at a deeply unkind hour to open up the Kash and Grab for Linda, and then he had an early online class that he couldn’t afford to miss.  Mickey left about halfway through that to work a double at the Fairy Tail.

A couple of hours after Mickey left, Svetlana went off to the Alibi leaving Ian in charge of Geno. Tasha and Iggy took off too to go tour a few other apartments,  since they still hadn’t heard back about their first choice.

That left just him and Mandy.  She was sprawled out on the couch, trying to finish her assigned reading, though her loud sighs every few minutes told him this wasn’t going well.  With good intentions, Ian dug out his own schoolwork and tried to get a head start on the week’s assignments.

His phone rang a few minutes after he’d gotten started, and Ian was relieved to see Mickey’s name on the screen.  Maybe he wasn’t alone in thinking they needed to talk after all.

“Hey,”  he clicked on the phone.

“Curt - Ian?”  The voice on the end was not at all what he’d been expecting.  He sat straight up and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mandy lift her head to stare at him.

“Roger?  What the fuck are you doing with Mickey’s phone?” he demanded.

Roger ignored that.  “You need to come get your boy.”

Cold ran through Ian’s blood at the deadly serious tone of Roger’s voice.  He was already heading for the door when he spoke again.  “Is he at the club?”

“No.  He’s at my place.  You remember how to get here, right?”

The cold turned to burning anger at that.  “And he’s at your place _why_?”

“Because I had to get him the fuck out of there fast and somewhere to calm down before he got arrested, that’s why.”  

“Ian, what’s going on?”  Mandy was on her feet now, touching his arm.  

Reluctantly, Ian turned his attention away from Roger.   “Watch Geno, alright?  I gotta go right now,”  With no time to fill her in, he ran out the door.

“You coming or what?”  Roger’s voice was impatient.

“Of course I’m coming!  What the hell happened?”  Ian burst out.  He was running down the apartment steps now and out on to the street.

“He went full frontal assault on Dalton.  You remember him, right?  The night manager?  Mickey beat the fucking shit out of him.  I had a hell of a time keeping the other staff from calling the cops, and I’m not exactly certain they didn’t after we left anyway, so you’d better get him to keep his head down for a while.”

“Shit,”  Ian rubbed his forehead.  “Is Mickey OK?”

“You mean did he bruise his knuckles too badly while he was breaking Dalton’s face?  I think he’ll live,” the trace of amusement that lingered in Roger’s tone now set Ian’s teeth on edge.  

“That’s not what I mean,” he nearly snarled.  

“I think he’s in some kind of post-rage fugue state, to tell you the truth.  Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him until you get here,”  Roger clicked off the line as Ian gritted his teeth.

He ran all the way to the Alibi, making it there in record time, and begged the car keys off of Svetlana.  Just over twenty minutes later, he was pounding impatiently on the door of Roger’s condo.

“You made good time, Speedy Gonzales,”  Roger opened the door with a lazy grin.

“What the fuck happened?”  Ian demanded as soon as he was over the threshold.  “What did Dalton do?”

“Nothing worth getting beat like that,”  Roger’s face went serious.  He shot a careful look down the hall towards the living room, where Ian guessed Mickey was waiting.  “He made some stupid remark and Mickey just went fucking postal. “

“Remark about what?”  Ian demanded, even as the sinking feeling in his stomach told him he already knew.

“More like about _who_ ,”  Roger regarded him steadily.   “It was scary, man, I’m not going to lie.  Took me and two other bouncers to drag him off.  I think it goes without saying that he's fired, but since he was screaming ‘I quit!’ the whole time he was trying to pound Dalton’s face through the back of his head, I’m thinking he’s not going to have much of a problem with that.”

“Where is he?”  Ian demanded, already pushing past Roger to the living room.

He found Mickey sitting on Roger’s black sofa, hunched over, staring at the floor.  His hands were bunched into fists, and blood seeped through the bandages that covered his knuckles.  Aside from that, he looked relatively unscathed, though a dark bruise on his cheek and a slightly split lip told Ian that the bouncers had at least gotten a couple of licks in.

Mickey didn’t look at him when Ian entered the room.  His whole demeanor reminded Ian, more than anything, of the night he’d received a similar phone call from Svetlana, and came home to find that Mickey had nearly torn their bedroom wall apart.

“Hey,”  he made his voice as gentle as possible as he sat down on the couch next to Mickey.  “You OK?”

“Yeah,”  Mickey’s voice was low, muffled.  “Guess I fucked us out of an extra paycheck.”

“Doesn’t matter,”  Ian reached for his hand.  “Honestly, I kinda didn’t think smacking heads at the fudgepacker factory was really what you were meant to do with your life,”  he forced himself to smile at that, hoping Mickey would smile back, do something, anything else besides sit there with that hollow expression on his face.  

Mickey didn’t quite make it to smiling status, but his mouth quirked slightly, and to Ian’s relief, his fingers closed around his.

“Let’s go home,”  Ian told him.

“ ‘K’, Mickey nodded.  He got up slowly.

Ian stood up too and saw Roger watching them, his face contemplative.  “I’ll walk you out,” the man informed him, and though Ian wanted nothing more than to see the last of Roger’s fucking face right now, the fact that the man had rescued Mickey from a guaranteed trip to jail forced him to nod politely.

Mickey seemed to come to life a little when he saw his own car.  “You drove here?”  he raised an eyebrow at Ian.

Ian nodded.

“Well, you’re not fucking driving back,”  Mickey yanked open the driver’s seat door, speaking over Ian’s objections.  “One of us has a license, Gallagher, and it sure as shit ain’t you,”  With that he slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door.

Ian started to walk around to the other side of the car but Roger’s voice stopped him. “Mickey’s got my number.  If he needs anything, you call me.”

Ian turned, looking Roger directly in the eyes.  “Thank you for your help, Roger, but I’m going to need you to stay the fuck away from him from now on.”

Roger looked at Ian’s set jaw and started to laugh.  “Territorial little fuck, aren’t you?  Don’t worry.  You guys have a relationship and I respect that.  I’m not going to get in the middle of it.  Thing is, _Curtis_ , I’m not going to pretend I’m not interested either.  You screw things up, and I’m going to be in there.”  

“Don’t hold your breath,”  Ian nearly growled as he reached for the passenger door.

“I won’t,”  Roger smiled unexpectedly.  “You’re different.  Looks like he did a pretty good job of helping you get your shit together.  Guess it’s your turn now.”

Ian hesitated before he opened the car door though Mickey was looking at him impatiently through the window.  He turned away, lowering his voice. “Roger, did Dalton tell him about us?  Is that why he went off?”

Roger looked surprised.  “Us?  What ‘us’ was there to tell him about?  A couple of blowjobs in the bathroom didn’t exactly make us a couple. No, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it.  Do you really think he’d care, anyway?”

Ian just shook his head, getting into the car without another word.  At this point, he had to admit he really didn’t know how Mickey would react to anything these days.

Mickey started the car as soon as Ian closed his door.  He was quiet as he drove.  Ian waited until he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, which admittedly wasn’t long.  “What happened, Mickey?”

He saw Mickey’s damaged hands tighten on the steering wheel and for a moment, he thought Mickey wasn’t going to answer.

“Dalton just…”  he gritted his teeth like he couldn’t bear to say the name.  “He was talking about you.  Saying shit like what a hot piece of ass you were even if you were out of your head half the time.  Like it was funny that he had this seventeen year old kid high as a kite every night,  being felt up and dragged home by every Tom, Dick and Harry in the place.  Talked like it was a big fucking joke, like you weren’t even a person, and I just…  I remember how I found you with that guy the first night I came there.  How you didn’t even remember him the next morning.  How you had no idea how you ended up at my place.  You would have gone home with that decrepit fucking perv and he would have fucked you while you were too out of it to stop him if you wanted to,  And fuckin’ Dalton’s laughing like it’s OK that he helped that happen to you, and to all the fucking other Curtis’s in that place.  I lost it.  I wanted to kill him.”

He fell silent then.  Ian wasn’t in any hurry to break it; Mickey’s words had brought back a whole host of dim, fogged memories...unfamiliar rooms, strange hands handing him pills or coke, holding him down…

“You know that wasn’t the only time, Mickey,” he spoke quietly, starting to feel sick, the way he always did if he thought about his time at the clubs too long.

“Yeah.  I know,”  Mickey’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel and Ian saw the drying bandages on his knuckles turn scarlet again.  

“Dalton’s a slimy creep,”  Ian hurried to speak again.  “But I -”

“ _Don’t_ ,”  Mickey spoke through teeth so tightly clenched Ian was astonished he could frame intelligible words.  “Do not fucking tell me how it’s your fault too, Ian, how somehow in your underage, drugged out haze you were supposed to know better than these fucking grown ass bastards.  I can’t listen to that bullshit right now - it’s gonna make me turn around and go finish the job I started on Dalton’s head.”

Ian snapped his mouth back closed.  the quiet stretched on between them uncomfortably, as if it were a physical being holding them apart.

When Mickey spoke again, his voice was so low Ian had to strain to hear it.  “I’m just tired of bad things happening to people I care about.  You, Mandy, Iggy, even fucking Svetlana...and I can’t ever stop it.  Can’t do anything about it except try to help clean up after.”

“Mickey, come on.  That shit’s in the past,”  Ian knew he was trying too hard to downplay everything, but he would have said anything at that point to try and shake Mickey out of the black mood it seemed like he was drowning in.

“Seems like that’s all I can think about lately.  The past.  All the bad stuff.  Keep going over and over it again in my head.”  

Ian started to speak again and Mickey shook his head.  “We’re here,”  they were pulling up to the curb in front of their building.  “Can we just drop this?  I can’t talk about this any more tonight.”

“Just one thing, Mickey,”  Ian said after they reached their apartment door.

Mickey sighed.  “Yeah?

“Thank you.”  

Mickey stopped trying to dig his key out of his pocket and straightened up.  “C’mere,”  he pulled Ian close to him, letting their foreheads touch, standing there for a long moment, and in those quiet seconds Ian could believe that no matter what, or who, stood in their way, they were going to be OK.

They had to be.

* * *

The next morning, Ian had just returned from opening the store, an act of contrition he was being forced to perform again because he’d begged off last night’s shift to stay home with Mickey, when there was a determined knocking at the door.

Ian frowned, casting a wary eye at Geno’s crib to make sure the baby was still sleeping as he walked back to the door.  It was way too fucking early for visitors - nobody else in the apartment was awake yet.

He jerked open the door, not in the most welcoming of moods, to find Lip standing there, his hair mussed, and his outfit wrinkled like he’d slept in it.

“Hey!”  Annoyance turned to surprise.  “Come in,” he waved his brother through the doorway.  “Keep it down though, Geno’s sleeping.  Everything OK?”

“Yeah, it’s…”  Lip ran a hand through his hair, and by the way most of it was already standing up, it was a familiar path.  “Not really.  I can’t fucking sleep these days.  I’ve been up most of the night, just thinking about everything.  I promised myself I wouldn’t come here, but I can’t keep going around in circles like this. We gotta talk, man.”

Ian was a little bewildered about how he’d gotten singled out for whatever madness was going on with his older brother now.  On the other hand, it was kind of flattering - a return to the old days, when he and Lip told each other everything.  Or, more honestly, that Lip told him everything and Ian gave him carefully edited versions of his life in return, but there was no pointing in splitting that hair now right when his brother needed him so badly.  “OK, then,”  he nodded towards the couch.  “Sit down.  Let’s talk.”

“Um…”  Lip remained where he was, flushing slightly, and Ian realized he’d gotten it wrong even before his brother spoke again.  “You’re not the one I need to talk to, Ian.”

“Goddammit, Lip,”  Ian glared at him.  “Don’t fucking do this.  Leave her alone.”

“Ian, come on.  You’re not blind.  You know it’s not finished between us,”  Lip gave him a surprisingly pleading look.

“Yeah?”  Ian refused to be won over.  “You still got a girlfriend, Lip?”

Lip flushed, eyes lowering guiltily.

Ian shook his head.  “Get the fuck outta here before she wakes up and sees you.  It's not fair to do this to her.  If you really care about her, just go.”

Lip followed him to the door but stopped before walking through it, turning back to his younger brother.  “I think I'm in love with her, Ian.”

“Jesus, Lip,” Ian began but he was cut off by Mickey’s voice.  

Unnoticed by either of them, Mickey had come out of the bedroom and he stood now just a few inches away, eyes fixed coldly on Lip. “What did you just say?”  

Lip returned his gaze defiantly, but didn’t speak.

“You _love_ her?  You really got the nerve to come up in here and say that shit?”

“Lip,”  Ian recognized the deadly quiet tone of Mickey’s voice and hurried to head off the incoming explosion.  “You need to leave, _now_.”

“Or what?”  Lip, as usual, was too fucking stubborn for his own good, and it didn’t serve him well in the next few seconds.  

Ian saw it coming but he couldn’t move fast enough to stop it.  Mickey’s fist exploded into Lip’s face, throwing him back into the wall.  

“Mickey, stop!”  Ian might have had a chance to pull Mickey away and calm him down if Lip hadn’t jumped back up and landed a punch of his own squarely in Mickey’s jaw.

That was it.  Mickey exploded like a bomb, rage turning him into a mini-Hulk who easily threw Ian back when he tried to grab him.  He was back on Lip with a second, had him down on the ground, fist flying into his face repeatedly.

“You call what you did to my sister love, you piece of shit?”  he was screaming in Lip’s face as Lip feebly tried to get away.  “You used her for a pump and dump and never looked back!  You fucked her up so bad she let Kenyatta treat her like a punching bag just to get over you!  I’ll fucking kill you before I let you spin her head again!”

This time Ian had help to finally pull Mickey off his brother - Svetlana had coming running out of the bedroom, summoned by the noise, and Mandy was right behind her.  He had a moment to be grateful Iggy and Tasha weren’t home to even the odds - they would have helped Mickey beat Lip to death first and asked questions later.

Between the three of them, they managed to drag Mickey backwards, both Svetlana and Ian each holding an arm.

Lip’s nose and mouth were both gushing blood, eye blackening rapidly, but he still jumped unsteadily to his feet, and like the king of all dumbshits, lurched forward in Mickey’s direction once more.

Mandy let go of her brother to grab Lip, slamming him back.  Mickey nearly dragged Ian and Svetlana forward trying to get to Lip once again, the two of them shouting dueling insults until Ian and Svetlana managed to wrestle Mickey away, dragging him into the bedroom and slamming the door shut behind them.  

* * *

Mandy helped Lip stand unsteadily and walked him into the kitchenette, where she tossed him a roll of paper towels to wipe the blood off his face.  While he did that, she quickly wrapped a handful of ice in a towel and held it against his nose.

“I think it's broken,” she informed him.

“Again?”  Lip groaned as he ineffectually tried to continue mopping blood off his face, impeded by the ice pack in his way.  

“Here, let me,”  Mandy took his hand and got him to hold the ice in place instead, so she could wash off the rest of his face.  Most of his expression was obscured by the towel but his eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her overwhelmingly nervous.

“What the fuck are you even doing here, Lip?”  she finally asked.  “And what the hell did you say to Mickey?”

“I didn’t say anything to Mickey,”  Lip snapped back.  “He heard something that wasn’t any of his fucking business and decided to make it his business.”

Mandy dropped the soiled paper towels into the trash and turned back to him.  “Something about me?”  she asked quietly.

“Mandy - “  Lip began.

As soon as he said her name, near panic clawed at her and she suddenly knew with all certainty she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.   His words would like something written into a spider’s web, a lure to draw her close enough and she’d be caught all over again before she realized it.

“You should go,”  she said flatly.  “They’re not going to be able to keep Mickey in there forever.  You need to be gone before he comes out.”

Mandy turned and walked to the door, throwing it open, and without any choice, Lip followed.  He was barely through the door before he turned back with her.  “Come with me.  I need to talk to you.”

She drew a shaky breath.  Once again, she saw the glittering strands of his web, and the problem was, it was so damn inviting.  “I can’t.  I have to make sure Mickey’s alright.”

Lip stared at her in amazement.  “If _Mickey’s_ alright?  He’s not the one bleeding all over your carpet, is he?  Besides, he's got Ian.  He doesn't need you! _I_ need you, ok?  Come on, you’re going to pick your hair trigger psycho brother over me?”

Her eyes narrowed at that, the spider’s web looking just a bit less tempting.  “Later, Lip.”

“No, wait!”  Lip grabbed the door before she could swing it shut.  “You said before that everything you did was all for me, remember?  You nearly fucking killed Karen, you got me into college...I didn't ask you to do any of that, and you did it anyway.  Now I'm asking, Mandy.  I’m telling you I need you, and I'm asking you to come with me.  Please?

Mandy sighed, looking back at those eyes that were still fixed on her.  He reached down, taking one of her hands in his.  For several seconds she just stood there, feeling his skin on hers, every brush of his fingers reminding her how her whole body had screamed out for him for months.

Carefully, she pulled her hand out of his.  Lip started to protest, but went silent as she touched his face, tracing his jawline, cautiously wandering the path between his cheek bones to his brow and forehead, careful to avoid the fresh injuries.  

“Lip,” she said quietly when she finally stepped back.  

“Yeah?”  his eyes were dark with emotion and Mandy felt oddly triumphant at that, that she could finally make him feel something, anything, even at this far too late date.

“GFY,” she told him and stepped back, closing the door on his stunned expression.

* * *

As soon as Ian and Svetlana got him in the bedroom, Mickey made a break for the door.  Furiously, Ian shoved him back, so hard that Mickey landed on the bed.  He jumped up in a second, eyes flashing.

“Mickey, calm the fuck down!”  

“I’m going to fucking kill him!”

“That’s enough!”  Ian yelled back.  He grabbed Mickey by the shoulders and shook him, hard.  “That is _my fucking brother_ , do you understand me?”  

“Fine!”  Mickey knocked Ian’s hands away.  He still looked furious, but the wild, unreasonable rage in his eyes was finally being chased away by a miniscule bit of reason.  

Ian wasn’t feeling all that in control himself at the moment. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Mickey?!”  he burst out.  “I get what happened yesterday, but seriously, _Lip_?  I know he’s a dick and you’re worried about Mandy but what the fuck were you thinking? Was one get out of jail free card too fucking much for you to handle? You going to keep attacking everyone who says something you don’t like until you finally get arrested, and you get to sleep in that prison cell you’ve been craving?”

Mickey clearly didn’t have an answer for that.  He turned away from Ian only to freeze Svetlana in his sights.  “You want to fucking weigh in here too?  Help your Carrot Boy pile-drive me down a little more?”

Svetlana gave him a coldly dismissive look and turned her head as the sound of Geno wailing reached them.  “I am going to check on my son.  Ian can take care of his own baby,”  she smirked at that before she exited.

After the door closed behind her, Ian turned back to Mickey.  “Enough of this shit, Mickey!  Tell me what’s going on!”

“I don’t know, OK?”  Mickey was pacing the floor back and forth.  “I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say!  I thought you being back was going to fix it all and it just - didn’t. Everything’s just been - like it’s all coming down and it won’t stop and I can’t fucking handle it anymore.”

“I thought you were happy,”  Ian couldn’t help the wounded tone in his voice.  “That I was back, I mean.  Is that what this is?  You don’t want me here?  You’re not ready for this?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”  Mickey stormed.  The look he gave Ian was full of frustration.  “This is why I can’t talk to you, Ian! I gotta constantly worry about saying the wrong thing, hurting you or setting you back!”

“Are you fucking serious?”  Ian was so angry himself that he wanted to break something.  “You’re going to blame me?  You’re closed down because I’m fucking bipolar?”

“For someone who wants me to talk, you’re shit at listening!”  Mickey blasted him right back.  “You make everything about you or you make it about us and you’re fucking freaking out because I’ve got some shit going on that has nothing to fucking do with you!  So yeah, I don’t talk, because what happens if I do, and you take it wrong and you go off your meds or you fucking leave again?”

“If it’s got nothing to do with me, then tell me!  Right now, Mickey, just fucking talk to me!”

“I can’t - I can’t fucking do this,”  Mickey went to their closet, yanking open the door and grabbing a shoulder bag from the floor.  Ian went cold as he watched Mickey go to their dresser, open drawers, and start pulling out clothes, stuffing the bag full.

“What are you doing?”  he demanded.  

“Leaving,”  Mickey spat.  “You should know what that looks like.”

“Mickey - you can’t - look, if you don’t want to be around me, just say so!  If you want me to leave, I'll go!”

“You are still NOT LISTENING!”  Mickey threw his full bag down on the ground and faced Ian, breathing heavily.  “What did I just fucking say?  I don’t want you to leave!  I just gotta - I have to go.”

“Why?”  Ian jumped up, blocking the door as Mickey picked his bag off the floor.  “Tell me that at least.  Tell me why you’re walking out on me!”  

“It's not like that, alright?  I just need to be alone right now.  Ian…”  Mickey’s voice broke then.  “Please, for once, just listen to me.   I'm not fucking leaving you.  I just - I need some time, to feel like I can breathe again, figure out what is wrong with me.  You needed that once, you should remember what it's like.”

They were at a standstill now, Mickey in front of Ian, bag in hand.  Ian stared him down, torn between wanting to throw his boyfriend through the fucking window for even thinking about walking through that door, and just getting down on his knees to beg him to stay.  

He swallowed back the Pluto sized lump in his throat and stepped away from the door, but he couldn’t stop himself from following Mickey when he walked through it. “Where will you go?”

“Dunno,”  Mickey said flatly.  He picked up his car keys from the kitchen counter and Ian felt the numbness start to drain away.  Mickey was really leaving.  This was happening all over again.

“When can I expect you back?”  he spoke through deadened lips.

“When you see me,”  Mickey opened the door.

“Mickey, please - “  

Mickey turned to face him.  “This isn’t forever, Ian.  It’s just time.  Don’t make it more than that.”  

“No!”   Any intention of backing off that Ian had instantly dissolved when he saw Mickey turn to walk out the door.  He ran forward to grab his boyfriend’s arm, pull him back, fight him if he had to, but someone else had hold of him now.  

Svetlana was pulling him away from the door even as Mickey disappeared down the hallway.  “Ian, stop, let him go!”

“But he needs - !” Ian struggled against her restraining grip.

“He told you what he needs.  Now _let him go_.”

“God!”  Ian shook her off, but he stayed where he was, slumping against the wall.

“What the hell is going on?”  Mandy was standing in the hallway, staring at the still open door.  “Is Mickey - did Mickey just -”  she gestured towards to the hallway speechlessly.

“Fuck that!” One more disbelieving look at their faces and Mandy ran out into the hallway.  “Mickey!”  They heard her yelling as she ran after him.  “Mickey, wait!”

Ian slumped down on the floor, listening to her cries become more distant.  He closed his eyes, wanting to believe she’d return with him. but he couldn’t even bring himself to believe in that fairy tale.

He was right.  Mandy returned alone a few minutes later, breathless and furious.  “Can’t we have one week, just one, where someone in this family doesn’t go fucking apeshit?”  he saw the tears in her eyes.  Standing up, he reached for her, but Mandy flinched away.  “I’m sorry, Ian.  I promise tomorrow I’m going to be a good friend and I’m going to be really understanding and we’ll figure this shit out.  Just - just let me have today.  Please.”  With that, she disappeared towards her room.

“God,’  he said again.  “How did this get so fucked, so fast?”

He hadn’t been speaking to anyone, but Svetlana sat Geno down in his crib then turned to him.   “Mandy has a point.  Would be nice if the three of you would decide to stay put for a while,”  she said slowly as she sat down on the couch, pulling a loose cigarette out of her pocket and fumbling for a lighter.  “Mickey will be OK,” she added, mostly to herself.

Ian stared at her shaking hands.  “Look at you, Miss Fucking Let Him Go.  You’re a mess,”  he studied her suspiciously for a minute, then turned on her accusingly.  “Jesus Christ! Are you...are you fucking _in love_ with him?!”

Svetlana’s head shot up and the unlit cigarette fell from lips parted in surprise.  She stared at Ian for a long moment and then she began to laugh.

“You think - “  she gasped for breath, tears of mirth welling in her eyes.  “You think because I love Mickey too I am your rival now?  I am pining for him like stupid girl in movie?   _‘Oh no, I love this angry tattooed boy so much but too bad so sad, he only likes dick.  Oh what am I to do?’_ “  she clasped her hands together in exaggerated imitation of her idea of a lovestruck heroine.

Watching her, Ian’s flashfire jealousy curled in on itself and faded away, leaving a sick sense of stupidity in its place, not exactly a happy addition to the emptiness he was already feeling.

“But you do love him,”  he persisted anyway, more out of stubborn pride than anything else.

“Of course,”  Svetlana sat up, immediately serious again.  “I thought you already knew.”

“No,”  Ian admitted honestly.  “I knew you cared, but I always thought it was because of Geno, you know, because Mickey was willing to claim him…” Svetlana was already shaking her head and he let the sentence trail off.

“It is that,”  she said, “but more than that.  I am not sure how to say it.  We are - bound.”  Ian waited for more, but Svetlana seemed satisfied with her own explanation.  She settled back on the couch, falling into silence.

“Because you saved his life?”  Ian asked her  

Svetlana hesitated for a long moment before nodding.  “Yes.  But you see, before I saved his life, he saved mine.  And now we are tied together.  Blood brothers.”

“What do you mean, he saved your life?  I don’t understand,”  Ian confessed for a long moment.

Svetlana began to speak again but just then, Geno wailed loudly.  She stood up hurriedly, but before she made her way over to her son, she stopped in front of Ian.  “Out of anybody, I think you actually do,”  With that rather vague answer, she kissed him on the forehead before she moved over to the crib and swept Geno into her arms.  

“Svetlana,”  Ian said after a moment, watching her settle Geno in his high chair in the kitchenette and then begin warming a bowl of food for him.  “What are we going to do?”

Svetlana looked at him over her shoulder.  “We are going to believe him,”  she said simply, as if the answer was very obvious.  “He said he had to go.  He said he will come back.   We will live our lives and we will wait.”

“And what if he doesn’t come back?”  Ian hated the slight tremor in his voice at that.

Svetlana shrugged.  “We will go and find him.  Then we will beat the shit out of him for making us worry.”

Despite everything, Ian felt his lips twitch into a smile at that.  

He got up then, looking out the window to see the fall sunlight that was lighting up the neighborhood in a orange glow, camouflaging everything in its rays until it all looked universally bright and warm, all the dinginess disappearing in a way that only autumn could manage.

 _It’s just time_ ,  Mickey had said.  And Ian was going to believe him.

He could wait.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks* I promise, this isn't just a repeat of earlier events. The finale was not originally intended to be a two-parter, but it's just grown so big I had to split it. The second part will bring everything full circle. *updated to say I had such good intentions of getting the finale out on Friday, but real life is intruding quite a lot. Look for it early this upcoming week and my apologies for the delay.*
> 
> Your comments, kudos, and general kindness have been such a gift to me. Thank you all again, from the bottom of my heart. Feedback is always, always appreciated.


	24. A Circle Has No End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALE CHAPTER: Mickey, Mandy, Ian, and Svetlana come full circle.
> 
> tw: mentions of rape, mentions of abandonment/child abuse

_We will live our lives._

Any suspicion Ian had that Svetlana’s edict after Mickey's unexpected departure was easier said than done was confirmed when he woke after a restless and frequently interrupted night’s sleep to find her already busy in their kitchenette making syrniki, a type of Russian pancake that Ian was especially fond of and which she hadn’t made since the days of his last major depression.  Looking at the dark circles under her eyes, he had to wonder if she’d slept at all.  He would have asked, but suspected she’d hit him upside the head with the frying pan she was using if he did so.

Mandy hadn’t looked any better when she’d emerged from her bedroom; she was pale, red - eyed and clearly not in the mood to talk, though she did squeeze Ian’s hand.  Looking at her caused another sickening swell of guilt in the pit of Ian’s stomach.  Between Lip and Mickey, she’d been through the ringer lately.

Only Tasha and Iggy seemed relatively unaffected by Mickey’s abrupt departure.  He’d been concerned it might have been awkward; perhaps they might even question why he was still there if Mickey wasn’t, but Iggy had taken the news with a casual shrug.  “Sometimes you just gotta get gone for a while,”  he’d said, and then had surprised Ian by slapping him on the back before he’d walked away, a gesture which Ian was pretty sure was meant to be comforting.

So no, it wasn’t awkward.  But it still felt empty, hollow...his too silent phone mocking him.  He wrestled with the decision to call or not over and over again, trying to keep himself busy instead and it wasn’t like he didn’t have a ton to do - a morning shift at the Kash & Grab, two online classes, studying for more than one upcoming test, helping out with Geno, dodging Fiona’s invitation to come by for dinner, since she’d see through any facade he put on in a second and he just didn’t have the energy to worry about her worry.

Somehow, in the midst of everything, Ian did manage to have moments where he didn’t think about Mickey, what Mickey was doing, who Mickey was with...but those moments were few and far between.  Mostly that’s all that ran through his fevered mind.

There were a pretty limited number of places Mickey could be.  He didn’t keep a lot of cash on him and Ian knew without asking he wouldn’t take money meant for household expenses to pay for a motel.  All of his family was either in this apartment or had threatened to kill him at some point.  He certainly wouldn’t turn to Fiona for help, even though the two of them seemed fonder of each other these days then they’d ever been in the past, another development that Ian had not been in on.  

So that left one pretty likely suspect, someone who would definitely be willing to let Mickey sleep on his couch.  

With an open invitation to share his bed, if he so wanted to.

But that line of thought was a dangerous one, and one that Ian tried to shy away from as much as possible, preferring to think about how much he missed his boyfriend instead.  It was painful, but at least it didn’t come with that unwelcome, sickening undercurrent of rage.

Altogether, it was an interminably long day and Ian was exhausted by the time he left the library where he’d forced himself to concentrate on an upcoming paper for the last few hours.  It wasn’t even late - barely five, and still, all he wanted to do was go home and go to bed.  

When he walked into the apartment, he found Iggy and Tasha sitting on either side of a man he’d never seen before in his life.  The guy looked to be in his late twenties, rather overdressed for one of their friends in his cheap business suit, shirt sleeves rolled up, jacket thrown casually over the back of the couch.  A briefcase that had to belong to the stranger sat forgotten at the corner of the couch.  Out of place or not, the man seemed perfectly content, helping Iggy and Tasha roll a scarily large pile of marijuana into joints.  The thick smoke in the air and his sleepy, pleased expression indicated he’d already spent some time sampling the goods.

“Who’s this?”  Ian asked, throwing himself into the chair opposite.

Iggy looked up.  “Oh, this is Sean!  He’s my new insurance claims processor - that Taver hag refused to work with me any more after Tasha slashed her tires.”

Ian only had the dimmest idea of what they were talking about, but he nodded anyway as Sean stood up and extended his hand with a dopey grin.  “Nice to meet you.”  

Sean sat back and turned to Iggy.  “This is primo shit, man.  I’ll take ten,”  he passed the lit joint he was holding back to Iggy

“More where this came from!”  Iggy beamed jovially, exhaling a cloud of smoke, as Tasha snapped open a baggie with an expert flourish and began filling Sean’s order.

“Want one, Ian?  Family rides for free!”  Tasha held one out to him but he shook his head.  “Maybe later.”  

Iggy leaned forward. “Speaking of, Ian, can you call your sister and ask her to come over?”

Ian raised his eyebrows, surprised.  “Who, Fiona?”

“Nah,”  Iggy waved his hand impatiently.  “The other one.  Little Red.  Call her.  I need her for something.”  

“Why her?”  Ian asked suspiciously.

“You know, cuz she’s like, innocent and shit,”  he exchanged significant looks with Sean.

“Someone pure,”  Sean added.  “Exactly what we’re looking for.”

Ian clenched his jaw.  “Explain. Quickly.  And if any part of what you’re about to say involves the phrase ‘virgin sacrifice’, I’m going to kill you both.”  

Iggy looked confounded by this for a moment before his face cleared, and then he looked disgusted.  “Dude.  Gross.  No, it’s nothing like that.  We just need a little favor…”  he exchanged a look with his new buddy and they grinned.

Before Ian could ask, Sean reached into the briefcase at his feet, extracted a labeled, plastic container with an orange top and set it on the coffee table.

“OH!”  Ian looked at it.  “Iggy, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Hey, this isn’t just for me,”  Iggy grinned more widely.  “We’re all going to suffer if my checks stop coming in.  Come on, help me out here.”

Shaking his head, Ian pulled out his cell phone.

Debbie was there twenty minutes later, her face alight with curiosity.  Ian hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her over the phone what they were looking for; he was pretty sure there was a special place in hell for brothers like him who set up their little sisters to be used for such nefarious purposes.

“So what’s up?”  she asked as soon as Ian let her in.

“Little Red!”  Iggy waved her over.  “Hey, you don’t smoke pot, right?  Or do blow, or pop ‘ludes, or drop acid, or -”

“ _No_ ,”  Debbie said emphatically.  “Though I think I’m getting a contact high just standing next to you.”

Iggy stubbed out his joint hurriedly and he and Sean frantically began to waft the smoke away from Debbie.  “Open up a window, Tasha, this girl needs some air!”

Debbie was eyeing the plastic container, understanding seeping into her features.  “You need an uncontaminated urine sample?”

Sean shrugged, looking a bit embarrassed.  “Part of the claim process.  I’m supposed to make sure the Iggster here is clean so we can keep cutting his disability payments.  Kinda forgot about that before we, uh - “ he gestured helplessly to the big pile of joints in front of them.

“Why couldn’t they just use yours?”  Debbie shot Ian a curious look.  “Thought you’d been all about the clean living lately.”  Her words were casual but he detected the worry underneath.

“I am,”  Ian hastened to reassure her.

“Yeah, but I hear you’re full of psych meds,”  Sean interjected.  “Iggy doesn’t have a prescription. so it’d be hard to explain.  Hey!  That’s a good idea though - Iggman, we gotta get you in to see a shrink who’ll write you up a report about how you’re all messed up in the head.  That shit is gold; we could drag this out for a couple of years probably, maybe even up your payments.”

Iggy stared at Sean, and Ian was pretty sure he was tearing up.  “God, I _love_ you!”

Sean gazed just as rapturously back, though Ian was pretty sure the adoring look was more for the baggie of weed he was clutching.  “I love you too, man!  And your sweet grass!  Pound it!”  And then it was all about the fist bumps and back slapping manhugs.

“Knock it off before I get jealous,”  Tasha swatted Sean across the shoulders, chuckling.

Debbie cleared her throat impatiently, clearly not impressed with the rapidly developing bromance before her.  She held out her hand.  “Cash first,” she snorted at Iggy’s stunned expression.  “Fifty bucks.”

“What?”  Sean and Iggy both objected at the same time.

“I don’t pee for free,”  Debbie continued to hold out her hand.  “Pay up.”

“Twenty!”  Iggy bargained.

“Forty five!”  Debbie demanded as Ian watched her with an admiring grin.  

“Thirty!”

“Thirty five or I walk,”  Debbie tapped her foot.

“Deal,”  Iggy nudged Sean.  “Cash for grass, man.  Pay the lady.”

Amiably, Sean dug out his wallet.  After Debbie had collected her payment, she took the cup and disappeared into the bathroom.  Ian had to look away when she came back a few minutes later.  He didn’t look back until Sean had bagged the cup and it had disappeared into his briefcase.

“So…”  Debbie was settling herself next to Sean on the couch, a calculating glint in her eyes.  “You do this for a living?  Disability claims and stuff?”  

Sean nodded.  On the other side of her, Iggy leaned over, holding out a fresh joint.  “Hey, Red, you want one now since you already pissed for us?”

“NO!”  Ian loudly objected before Debbie could answer.  She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to Sean.

“No thanks,” she repeated.  “I have a proposal for you.  I’m pretty sure Iggy’s not your only client that may be a little...questionable, am I right?”

Sean raised an eyebrow at her.  “Guess not…?”  

“And…”  Debbie smiled widely.  “Wouldn’t it be helpful to have a good source on hand for occasions just like these?  Think about it.  Your clients pay you to obtain the samples and fudge some paperwork, I’ll provide the goods, and you’ll pass on a generous percentage to me.  I promise to keep myself drug free, well hydrated, and available around the clock for all of your emergency needs.  What do you think?”

“Debbie!”  Ian started to object.

“Quiet, Ian, I’m networking,”  Debbie shushed him impatiently.  “So do we have a deal?”

Sean eyed her speculatively.  “Yeah, I think we can work that out.  Give me your number, kid.”

With a flourish, Debbie produced a white card, and Ian stood up to read it over her shoulder, mouth agape.

 _Debbie Gallagher_ , it read in plain text. _Childcare, Bookkeeping, Misc. Dirty Deeds.  References Available Upon Request_.  Below that was her cell phone number.

“You have a business card?!”  Ian burst out.

“I’m an entrepreneur,”  Debbie shrugged nonchalantly.

Ian had to admit, he was deeply impressed.  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one - Iggy was eyeing the card as well.

“Hot damn, I like this kid!”  he leaned towards her.  “Hey, if you’re interested in another money making opportunity, Tasha and me could use a contact at your school -”

Iggy didn’t get to finish that sentence; Ian jumped up and grabbed Debbie by the arm.  “Time to go, Debs!”  Hurriedly, he steered her towards the door.

“Jeez, Ian, you don’t have to be so overprotective,”  Debbie yanked herself out of his grip.

“I’m your big brother; it’s my job,”  Ian told her as he opened the apartment door.  

Debbie smiled at that.  “Thanks.”

“You’re growing up, Debs,”  Ian surveyed her with a mix of admiration and nostalgia.  “When did this happen?”

Debbie shrugged before she gave him a quizzical look.  “I didn’t see Mickey in there.”

Ian’s smile instantly faded.  “Yeah, he’s um…gone.  For now,”  he could have said ‘at work’ or something, but there was something in Debbie’s  Fiona-like expression that told him she wouldn’t buy it.

“Huh,”  Debbie sighed, and he could tell it was taking all her strength to not eye-roll about his never-ceasing relationship drama.  “Ian, why don’t you just come home?”

He returned her steady gaze.  “This _is_ my home.”

“Fine,”  Debbie grumbled, looking irritated.  After a few seconds her expression melted into guilt.  “Sorry.  I guess I’m a bad sister.  I want you to be happy, but if you break up with Mickey, maybe you’d come back.  I miss you.”  

“Come here,”  Ian held out his arms and after a second Debbie hugged him tightly.  “I miss you too.  You know, this is a two way street.  You should come over more, hang out.   Just as long as you promise to not let Iggy make you into his drug mule.”

“Please.  I’m not stupid enough to start selling pot at my own school.  I like my life much better without a guaranteed trip to Juvie,”  Debbie pulled away from him.  “I gotta run,”  she hesitated before turning to leave.  “But maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“That’d be nice,”  Ian smiled at her, and she beamed back before she disappeared down the hallway.

Ian walked back inside, only to find himself smack on the middle of one of Tasha and Iggy’s epic, out of nowhere fights.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  Iggy was yelling at his girlfriend, who had frozen in front of the fridge, a unopened beer in her hand.  “You’re pregnant!  You can’t have that!”

“It’s not like I’m going to get drunk!”  Tasha yelled back.  “I can have one fucking beer!”

“No you can’t!  You’re going to make our kid retarded or some shit!  Look, I been reading all about it - “  Ian was vastly amused by the dog eared copy of _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ that Iggy was holding out.  

“Um...Iggs, I gotta bounce.  I’ll call you about the shrink visit,”  Awkwardly, Sean hurriedly packed up his briefcase, hiding his contraband inside, and hustled out the door.  As the screaming reached a crescendo pitch, Ian heartily wished he was going with him.

He was briefly distracted when the front door opened and Svetlana came inside, carrying Geno and a bag of groceries.  “What is going on?”  she asked him as he reached for the baby, raising her voice to be heard over the yelling.

“Iggy and Tasha are fighting about whether she can drink while she’s pregnant,”  Ian sighed and slumped back onto the couch after he sat a restless Geno down on the floor, trying to remember where he left his mp3 player and headphones.  Shit - he was pretty sure he’d loaned it to Debbie a few weeks back.

“Oh,”  Svetlana shrugged as she walked into the kitchen to put the groceries away.  “I drank while I was pregnant with Geno, just not as much.  I smoked too.”

Ian internally face-palmed at this, but before he had a chance to say anything, Tasha turned to Iggy triumphantly.  “See?  And Geno’s just fine!”  

Iggy looked beyond exasperated.  “Shit, don't listen to her just because her baby got some weird ass touched-by-an-angel immunity.  Sometimes I think he ain’t even her and Mickey’s kid.  Look at him,”  Iggy gestured to Geno, who’d pulled himself to a standing position holding on the coffee table and was currently bouncing up and down, chortling.  “That kid’s way too fucking happy to be a Milkovich.  Bet he got switched at birth or something.  Somewhere on the Northside some poor assholes got a chain smoking eight month old due for his first trip to rehab, and they’re wondering if they bought the wrong kind of prenatal vitamins or some shit.”

He looked back at Tasha, who was glaring at him, still holding the beer.

“Jesus, don’t you even care?”  he demanded.  “You’re just like your fucking mother!”

That clearly was a low blow.  Tasha’s mouth popped open and Iggy had to duck when she hurled the bottle directly at his head.  Amazingly, it didn’t break, though it left quite a dent in the wall where it hit.  Then she whirled and ran for the front door, slamming it hard behind her.

Iggy stared after her for a moment.  “Women!” he burst out before he turned and went into his borrowed bedroom, slamming the door behind him as well.

“Should we -”  Ian gestured helplessly at Svetlana, who was compiling ingredients for dinner as if nothing had happened.

“It is between them,”  she looked supremely unconcerned.

Ian wanted to stay out of it, he really did, but the devastated look on Tasha’s face as she’d ran past him compelled him to at least try.  He hurried out the front door, wondering how he was going to find her.

He didn’t have to go far.  Tasha was sitting at the top of the stairs at the end of their hallway sobbing.

Ian sat down next to her carefully - having gotten more than one glimpse of her flash-fire temper, he wanted to leave himself room for a hasty retreat in case she turned it on him.

Not sure what to say, he stayed quiet until Tasha turned to him. “I’m not like my mom, and fuck him for saying that,” she wiped a hand across her face, sniffling.

“I remember you saying something about her...about how she -”  Ian broke off.

“Tried to trade me and my sister for crack when we were little. Yeah,”  Tasha was still wiping her eyes.  “To the local kiddie fucker.  Mother of the goddamn year.  My sister managed to call my dad and he got us out of there before anything happened.  Then he tried to run her over with his truck.  That was the first time he went to jail.  They just sent her to rehab.”

“Is she still alive?”  Ian asked her tentatively after a moment.

Tasha nodded.  “Yeah.  Lives on the street mostly.  She hangs out around Humboldt Park turning tricks when she’s not completely out of her mind.   Sometimes I bring her food or whatever.  Sometimes I just drive by and throw bottles at her.  Depends on how much I’ve had to drink.”

“Has she ever been diagnosed with anything?”  Ian asked her, wincing a little at the painful familiarity.

“Shit, what _hasn't_ she been diagnosed with? She’s been in and out of quack factories all my life,”  Tasha sighed.  “Like I know she’s sick, OK?  She doesn’t even know what’s real half the time, and she’s strung out on top of it.  I guess maybe I should try to forgive her.  But…”

“She tried to sell you for crack,” Ian supplied.  

“Yeah,” Tasha shook her head.  “I don’t ever want to be anything like her.”

“I get it,”  Ian told her.  “I never wanted to be like my mom either.  Too bad I am.”

Tasha gave him a quizzical look and he touched his head lightly.  “She’s bipolar, like me.  The origin of my lucky genetic lottery win.”

“Sucks,”  Tasha grimaced.  “But that doesn’t make you like her, Ian.   We all get something from our mom and dad.  That’s just genetics, like getting blue eyes or something.  It doesn’t mean we’re all like, destined to fuck up exactly the same way.”

“I want to believe that,”  Ian hesitated.  “The me that I am now, sitting right here, wouldn’t do the stuff that she did.  I wouldn’t steal from my family or leave my kids alone with someone like Frank or just fucking disappear.  But sometimes,” he touched his head again,  “I’m not me anymore.  It’s like I got all this noise in my brain and it drowns everything else out.  I guess I can see why - “  he hesitated.  “Why Mickey needs a break from worrying about it, you know, what I’m gonna do next.”

Tasha was quiet for a moment, then she moved closer to him and put her head against his shoulder.  “You know he’s coming back, right?  That boy is crazy in love with you. There’s no way he’s going to stay away.”

“Yeah, but what if I -”  

Ian was cut off by Tasha’s impatient snort as she lifted her head to look at him.  “What are you looking for, Ian?  Some kind of lifetime guarantee that nobody’ll ever fuck up and nothing’s ever going to go wrong?  I mean, what if it does?  Maybe shit will get bad and you’ll go off your rocker for a bit.  But even if you do, you’ll find your way back, just like Mickey will.  That’s the difference between you and your mom. You try.  You go see your headshrinker, and you do what you gotta do.  We got a fucking pharmacy in the kitchen to prove it.  If my mom had any of that…”  her voice cracked then, and tears welled up in her eyes once more.  “That’s what hurts so bad, you know? She had me and my sister counting on her, and she wouldn’t even _try_ ,”  she buried her face on his shoulder once more.  

Ian had to blink his own eyes rapidly at that.  “I know,”  he rubbed her shoulder.  “Believe me, I know.”

Tasha lifted her head up after a minute, wiping the tears from her eyes.   “You know what?  Fuck these crazy bitches that bred us.  I’m never going to make my daughter feel like that, like she’s not worth sticking around or fighting for.  Everybody acts like she’s this big mistake I made, because Iggy and me aren’t married, and his leg is all fucked up now so he can’t work.  Like I should just mark my baby ‘return to sender’ and ship her back because she isn’t fucking convenient.  I’m never going to treat her like that, like she’s just a problem.  I want her to have everything, you know?  But even if I can’t give her everything, like a fancy nursery or her own pony, or private school, whatever, I can still give her a mom that tries.”  

Ian smiled at that.  “You’re going to be a great mom, Tasha.  Because you would do anything for your daughter, whatever you can to make sure she’s safe and healthy.  That’s what you just said, right?”

Tasha groaned, clearly aware of where he was going.  “You think you’re so slick.  I get what you’re saying, OK?  I guess I just don’t like being told what I can’t do,”  she sighed and stood up, and Ian followed.  “Fine.  I’m not going to drink any more until this kid is baked, but once she pops out, forget it.  There better be some Cuervo next to my fucking hospital bed.”

“If you’re planning on breast feeding, you have to keep out of your system then too,”  Ian told her.

“Shit!”  Tasha yelped.  “You mean, I gotta get all stretched out and stitched back up stone fucking sober?”

Ian was about to tell her that he was sure they had hospital sanctioned drugs for those purposes (and to strongly suggest she actually read _What To Expect When You’re Expecting_ ), but their apartment door flew open then and Iggy came hurry-thudding down the hall, leaning on his cane.  

“Tasha! I’m a dick.  I shouldn’t have said that shit about your mom. Can you forgive me?  Look -”  he brought the hand he’d been holding behind his back out for them to see the beer bottle clutched in it.  He’d made his own label for it out of yellow post its - it consisted of a crudely crayon drawn sad face with a logo that read: **Sorry Babe Brew**.  He held it out to Tasha with a flourish.  “I guess maybe you can have one every once in a while.  Probably wouldn’t hurt, like what the fuck do I know anyway?”  

“Aw, Iggy!”  Tasha was getting teary again.  “Babe, it's OK.  You were right.  She's too important for us to take chances with.”  

Seemingly overcome with emotion at that, Iggy grabbed Tasha and threw the bottle of beer over his shoulder.  This time it did break, making a soggy, foamy mess in the corner of the hallway.  As the two of them were already making out, neither one of them noticed.  Ian watched them with a small smile.

After a few minutes they disentangled their tongues long enough to walk back towards the apartment, hand in hand.  Tasha turned before they went through the door.  “Ian,”  she called over her shoulder.  “I’m glad we’re family now.”

“Me too, Tasha,”  he called back, and meant it.

The door shut behind them.  Ian wasn’t in any hurry to follow.  He leaned against the graffiti’d wall, and pulled his cell out of his pocket.  He took a deep breath, selected Mickey’s name from the list of contacts, and began to type.

**I’m not going to crowd you.  Not going to ask why or where or when.  Just letting you know I’m here.**

He pressed SEND and was about to head back into the apartment when the door opened and Tasha stuck her head out.  “Hey, Ian!  What about weed?  You think a little toke now and then might be OK?  I mean, it’s all natural, right?”

Ian shook his head at her.

_“Son of a bitch!”_

* * *

 

When Ian went inside the apartment, Iggy and Tasha had disappeared into the bedroom, where he could hear them noisily making up.   Mandy had come home sometime while he was out there.  She was slumped on the couch, looking exhausted, still in her Waffle Cottage uniform.  When he sat down next to her, Mandy forced a smile.  It looked fake enough to be physically painful.  

“Hey,”  he scooted closer and nudged her arm.  “You OK?”

She sighed, dropping the pretense.  “ ‘Bout as good as you, I think.”

Ian sighed.  “My brother’s a dick.”

“Likewise,”  she heaved a deep breath and dropped her head onto his shoulder.  “At least we still got each other, right?”

He put his arm around her and squeezed, leaning his head on the top of hers.  They stayed that way as Svetlana left the kitchenette, carrying a full shot glass.  She paused to survey them.

“How sweet you two are.  Cuddling on very same couch you got caught fucking on.”

Ian and Mandy were apart in a second, sliding to opposite ends of the couch, looking away from each other uncomfortably.  

Svetlana strolled over,  and plopped herself in between them, downing her shot, then putting her feet up on the coffee table.  Ian eyed her far too satisfied expression, realizing too late she’d just played the two of them like a fiddle.

“You could have just asked us to move,” he complained.  

“What fun is that?”  she shrugged, ignoring their twin glowers.  After a few minutes she stood back up.  “You two.  Come help with dinner,”  she gestured imperiously towards the stove.  

As Ian got up to follow Svetlana and Mandy to the kitchen, his phone buzzed.  He dug it out of his pocket, and his heart jumped at Mickey’s name on the screen.

 **thanks**  was all the text said.

For now, it was enough.

* * *

The next day dawned cloudy and cold, with only rare pinpoints of sunlight shining through.  It seemed like autumn had come to stay, the last glow of summer finally chased off for another year.

By all rights, Mandy should have been in an awesomely good mood.  After all, it was Saturday, and for once, she had the day off from the diner, plus there was no class.  A whole free day where she could do anything she wanted.  

If she could only stop thinking about the fact that her brother had hotfooted it to parts unknown, and Lip had tried to - what?  Mandy didn’t even really know.  Talk her into being his on the side fuck buddy, she’d guess.  She hadn’t heard from him since he’d shown up at the apartment, not that she’d expected to.

Somehow, she'd expected to regret it.  Thought she might wake up in the middle of the night panicked, thinking she'd made the wrong choice, letting Lip slip away once again.

And yet, she didn't.  Oh yeah, it hurt.  Knowing she'd been so close to being able to claim some part of him again, the way she'd wanted to for so long...it hurt like she'd been torn open and left to stitch her own wounds back together.

But she didn't regret it, telling him no.  The little bit of himself that he was willing to give just wasn't enough for her anymore.  

Putting both Lip and Mickey firmly out of her mind, Mandy stayed in bed for a long while, staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if she wanted to call Antonio, her latest way to kill time, and spend the day at his place.  He was quick in the sack, but also quick to recover.  He definitely wouldn’t leave her any time in between to mope.

Once she had decided that even Antonio was too much trouble for the moment, she got up, dressed, and sat on the edge of her bed, propping her feet up so she could repaint her chipped toenails.  She was just working on the first nail when her phone buzzed with a text.

**can me and Carl stash some stuff at your place for a while?**

Mandy snickered as she looked at the text before she dialed.

“How hot is this ‘stuff’?”  she asked as soon as Bonnie answered.

“Um…”  Bonnie trailed off.

Mandy grinned to herself.  “OK, here’s the deal.  I’m going to give you an address.  You have to go through the back and up the stairs - ask for Nicky.  She’ll take it off your hands and give you a good price.  I get 15% and don’t even think about undercutting me -  Nicky will tell me how much she gave you.   Also, if I help you out with this, you gotta go to school all week.  Every. Single. Day.  And take Carl with you.”

Bonnie sighed loudly and there was some shuffling, plus muffled conversation in the background before it was suddenly Carl that was speaking.

“You know, just because you’re a schoolgirl again doesn’t mean we all want to hang out in that drone factory.”

“That’s the deal.  Take it or leave it,”  Mandy moved the phone so she could hold it with her shoulder and paint her toenails at the same time.

“Jesus, you remind me of Fiona,”  Carl grumbled.

Mandy nearly choked.  “Take that back, you little scab!”

“Just give me the address,”  Carl still sounded grouchy.  

She did so.  After they’d hung up she’d barely finished the toenails on one foot before her phone buzzed with another text.  Wondering what the hell Carl and Bonnie needed now, Mandy grabbed it again.  

Her half smile faded immediately when she read the text.   **CODE PINK!  I really need you please come.  my house ASAP**

It was from Debbie.  Mandy jumped up, balancing on her heels so she wouldn’t get wet nail polish on her carpet, trying to simultaneously look for her flipflops and dial Debbie’s number at the same time.

Debbie’s phone went straight to voicemail.  Maybe she was out of minutes.  Mandy swore to herself as she jammed her feet into the flipflops and ran into the living room.

Iggy and Tasha were playing Grand Theft Auto on the Xbox.  They looked at her curiously as she frantically grabbed one of Ian’s hoodies and her wallet.

“Everything OK?”  Iggy asked her.

“I dunno.  I think Debbie’s in trouble.  I’m going to see her right now,”  Mandy threw on the hoodie hurriedly.

“Little Red?”  Mandy was surprised by the concern in Iggy’s voice.  He and Tasha exchanged looks and set down their controllers simultaneously.  “You need some help?”

“Naw, it’s probably just boy trouble.  She used to date this little prick and he’s been giving her shit.  Might need you guys to help me teach him a lesson later though.  The first one doesn’t seem to be getting through his thick skull.”

“Sure thing,”  Iggy picked up his controller again.  “Show us the kneecaps, and we’ll break ‘em.”

“Thanks,” and with that, Mandy was out the door.

She nearly ran the whole way to the Gallagher house, racing up the front steps and pounding on the front door.  “Debbie, it’s me!”  God, if that little shit Toby had hurt Debbie again, he was really going to pay this time.  That broken nose that she’d given him before was going to seem like a sweet dream in comparison.

There was no answer.  Mandy tried the doorknob, relieved to find it unlocked, and hurried inside.  “Debbie?”  she called.  The house was eerily quiet, just like it had been the day she and Ian had been there to study.  “Debbie?” she called again.

Just as she walked into the living room, a figure stepped through the kitchen doorway.

“Lip?”  Mandy’s heart was threatening to pound through her chest, her nerve endings stretched far too thin.  “Where is Debbie?”

“Spending the weekend at a friend’s house,”  Lip smiled slightly and waved something at her.  She recognized the pink case of Debbie’s phone.  “She forgot this here though.”

“You asshole,”  Mandy slumped against the wall, simultaneously relieved and furious.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Didn’t think you’d come if you knew it was me,”  Lip’s mouth, still marred with a healing split lip, quirked into a smile tinged with sadness.  

“You had that right, shithead,”  Mandy straightened up and turned towards the door.

“Hey hey hey, what’s the rush?”  Lip jumped in front of her and she tensed, hands closing into fists.  “Hang out a while.  I ordered food and I got a stack of pretentious art films from film class.  Figured we could watch them for the symbolism, you know...”  his voice trailed off at her murderous look.  “Mandy, look, I’m not going to stop you from leaving if that’s what you want.  I’m just begging you for five minutes first.  Please.  I know I don’t deserve it, but there’s things I gotta say.”

“So you want to dump your precious feelings all over me.  What do I get out of it?”  Mandy demanded.

Lip shrugged.  “Thought maybe you could use a friend.”

“A friend,”  Mandy stared at him, before she made a big show of looking around the room.  “Why, you got someone in mind?”

Lip chuckled without humor.  “I deserve that, I know.  I’ve really fucked this up.  Mandy…”  he rubbed his forehead before he met her eyes once again.   “I went to your apartment the other day to say something that I had no right to say to you.  Can’t say I really enjoyed getting my face pounded in as a consequence,” he touched his black eye, “but maybe I had it coming.”

Mandy couldn’t help but smile at that.  “You kinda did,”  she surveyed him quietly for a moment.  “What do you want, Lip?”

“I want you back in my life,”  Lip began.

Mandy turned and headed for the door.  She had her hand on the doorknob when Lip interceded again.

“Not like that, OK?  I’m serious. I want to be your friend.”

Mandy didn’t let go of the doorknob, but she did turn to look him in the eyes. “Fuck your pity friendship.  I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”

“Pity?  That’s what you think - ? “  Lip’s damaged face was frustrated.  “You have no idea how...Jesus.  You are so fucking important to me, Mandy.”

She couldn’t look at him now; afraid her face would give too much away.  She just stared at the door.

Lip exhaled.  When she finally looked back, he was smiling again, a younger, more innocent smile than she could ever recall seeing on his face.  “So can we give this whole friendship thing a try then?”

Mandy turned back to him.  “I’m not Karen.”

Lip’s snorted at that.  “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“No, I said that wrong.  What I mean is, I’m not _your_ Karen.  I’m not your way out, Lip.  I’m not your free pass because shit’s getting real and you can’t deal with it.  So if you think I’m going to be your bang on the side or your excuse to end things with your girlfriend, forget it.  I’m not going to do that to Amanda and I’m not going to do that to myself. If that’s where you think this is going to go, be honest and tell me now before you fuck me over again.”

“It’s not.  I swear it’s not.  Mandy, I miss you. I’ve tried to let you go.  I’ve tried to walk away.  I just...I can’t.  And if it was just me, if I was alone in feeling this way, I’d suck it up.  But I’m not alone in this, am I?”

“Would I still be standing here otherwise?”  she asked him.

“So will you stay?”  Lip watched her carefully.

She sighed.  “What kind of food did you order?”

Lip broke out in a breathtaking smile at that and then held out his hand to her.

Only a few seconds hesitation before she reached out and took it.

* * *

Despite the slight reassurance Ian had felt in Mickey’s response to his text, the second day without him wasn’t any easier than the first.  Once again, Ian focused on staying busy.  After opening the store once more for Linda, he spent most of the day at the Alibi with Svetlana, filling in for Mickey.  His duties didn’t involve much more than hanging out and trying to look intimidating so customers would think twice before refusing to pay or getting rough with the girls.  He was amused to see how much more organized the Rub & Tug had gotten under Svetlana’s rule.  Business was brisk as well; they had a steady stream of customers thanks to her online and Craigslist advertising, and her website was getting a large amount of subscribers even though it hadn’t gone live yet.  

The apartment was far quieter than normal that night.  Iggy and Tasha had been vague about their plans for the evening; he suspected they had gone to offload the rest of their pot.  Mandy was who knew where, and Svetlana had plans with Fiona and V, so Ian offered to watch Geno for her.

He spent the evening playing with the baby, managing at last to tire the seemingly inexhaustible tot out.  Once he’d gotten Geno settled in his crib, Ian attempted to take advantage of the remaining alone time to get some studying done, but twenty minutes in he found himself drooping over his book.  Fuck it.  Stumbling wearily to the bedroom, he fell onto the bed still fully clothed, figuring he’d sleep an hour or two and then wake up and try studying once again.

Three quarters of the way asleep, Ian was in a hazy twilight, caught in a dreamscape that he knew wasn’t real but he couldn’t shake his way out of.   Some part of his underwater brain heard the squeak of the bedroom door, the footsteps approaching, even felt the gentle brush of fingers against his face, but he still couldn’t make his eyes open.  He was dreaming he was locked in a dingy little room, nothing but a scarred table in front of him with an old radio straight from the 50’s, and every station he turned to played Mickey’s voice, quiet but distorted, with an static, electronic falseness.  Ian was turning the stations ever more frantically, trying to make the voice louder so he could understand what Mickey was saying, so he could figure out how to get out of the room and go find him and it wasn’t working; nothing was working and he was trapped -

With a strangled gasp, Ian was abruptly awake again, half hanging off the bed, drenched in sweat.  He sat up abruptly, still feeling the tendrils of the dream winding around him, trying to pull him back.  Nothing felt quite real yet...he gazed around the familiar surroundings of his bedroom, trying to get his bearings, and his eyes fell on the black bag sitting on the floor next to the dresser.  

Mickey’s bag.

God, he was still dreaming.  He had to be; he could even still hear Mickey’s voice, electronically distorted, just like it had been in the dream…

His eyes fell on the baby monitor sitting on the dresser.  Mickey’s voice was coming out of it, a low murmur that Ian had to strain his ears to hear.

He was off the bed in a flash, racing into the living room, skidding to a stop, when he saw Mickey, his back to him.  Mickey was cradling Geno in his arms, the baby’s head against his shoulder, pacing back and forth, talking softly to him.  “You can sleep now,”  he was murmuring.  “Ain’t gonna let nothing happen to you.  I’ll be right here,”  he pressed a kiss to the top of Geno’s head.

Ian must have made some sound at that, because Mickey’s head snapped up.  When he saw Ian staring, he pressed a finger to his lips, indicating Geno’s closed eyes, and walked carefully over to the crib, gently laying the baby down.

Ian felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for Mickey to melt away like a mirage, until his boyfriend crossed the room to stand in front of him.

His expression was sheepish.  “Um...I was trying not to wake you up, but he started crying, so -”

Mickey didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Ian grabbed him, kissing him hard.  Mickey’s lips parted easily underneath Ian’s and he was kissing him right back, hands sliding to lock around Ian’s neck.

They crashed through their bedroom doorway, Mickey kicking the door closed behind them.  There was a point where Mickey may have tried to say something but Ian kept him too busy to speak.  For several long seconds they were locked together until Mickey finally broke free.

“Hey, hey, Ian wait a minute.  Maybe we should talk first -”  he sucked in a deep breath when Ian pulled down his zipper in one easy movement and reached inside.  

They were back on the bed, and Mickey was pulling off Ian’s clothes just as frantically as Ian was tugging off his, so impatiently that he heard the rip of fabric more than once.  

Mickey started to turn over when Ian opened the drawer to get supplies, but Ian tugged him back.  “I want to see your face.”

Mickey’s breath was coming in short pants and he went rigid, arching his back and moaning when Ian’s damp fingers found him, easing the way, before Ian pulled Mickey’s leg up over his arm and moved on top of him.

It was hard, hot, and quick, and Ian collapsed next to Mickey, both of them breathing in heavy pants.

“Damn,” Mickey said after a moment.  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you missed me.”

“Yeah,”  Ian was still short of breath.  “You could say that.”

They fell into silence then, easy at first, but Ian could almost pinpoint the moment where it became strained, filled with unspoken things.

“Where were you?”  he asked quietly.

He turned his head when Mickey didn't answer.  “It's OK.  You don't have to tell me.”

Mickey released a long breath at that.  “Ian, you got a right to ask.”

“No, I…” Ian stared up at the ceiling.  “It doesn't matter.”

“Jesus,” Mickey’s voice was a mix of frustration and reluctant humor.  “You think I was with Roger, don't you?”

“No, it’s just that …” Ian gave up. “ I don't care, ok? You're back now, that's all that matters.”

“And you really don't care if I spent the last two days with Roger.  If I fucked him, even,”  Mickey’s face was full of skepticism.

Ian closed his eyes.  “I care, alright?”  he said at last.  “I just don’t want to chase you away again.”

“OK, that’s it,”  Mickey sat up and tugged at Ian’s arm.  “Come here.”  

Ian followed suit, sitting up as well.  He and Mickey faced each other on the bed, both sitting cross legged.

“You didn't chase me away.  Ian, I'm serious.  I didn't leave because of you.  I just... I had all this shit I couldn't stop thinking about.”

“ ‘It's not you, it's me?’  Really?”  Ian gave him a hard stare.

Mickey kneaded his forehead with his fingers.   “Look, I'm trying to talk to you, ok? I don't know how to do this.  You gotta help me out here.”

“OK,” the smile came easily to Ian’s face this time.  He felt all the tension roped around him for the last two days falling away.  “Where were you?”  he asked again, prompting him when Mickey didn’t look like he knew where to begin.

“Didn't go anywhere the first night, not really,” Mickey looked away and Ian could tell the words were harder for him to find now.  “I kinda wandered around and then I went to...you know...where Terry died.”

“What?”  Ian burst out. “You spent the night in that place where - “  he went cold thinking about it, Mickey all alone at night in that overgrown courtyard, surrounded by broken buildings that looked like they were full of ghosts even in the brightest sunlight.  

“Yeah,” Mickey leaned forward, his eyes searching Ian’s for understanding.  “I kinda needed to.  I know it sounds fucked, but I needed to see it again.  I've been thinking about it a lot lately.”

“Why didn’t you -”  Ian forced himself to stop before he could finish the sentence.  

“I know,”  Mickey clearly understood what Ian was getting at.  “I’m sorry.  I just - I’m not sure how to explain.  When you were gone, that’s all I could think about.  That you were gone, I mean.  How much I missed you.  It made not thinking about all the other shit easy.  When you came back, I was…”  Mickey hesitated, looking at Ian’s expression.  “I was so fucking happy.  You get that, right?  That I want you here, with me?  You do know that, don’t you?”

He waited for Ian’s nod before he continued.  “But once you were back, and I didn’t have to worry about that anymore, I started thinking about all the other shit again.  Like my dad.  I’ve just been - look, I feel like an asshole saying this to you but I’ve been -”

“Depressed,”  Ian filled in for him.  “And you didn’t feel like you could tell me, because what?  Because I’m the only one who’s got a right to be low around here?”

Mickey looked away.  “Sounds stupid when you say it out loud like that.”

“It _is_ stupid,”  Ian agreed.  He leaned forward to take Mickey’s hand in his, tracing the tattoo’d letters with his fingers.  “We all think stupid shit sometimes.  And you were right, what you said before. I did make it all about me.  I’m sorry.  But I’m listening now.  So tell me.”

Mickey looked away and Ian could see him searching for the words.  He waited, playing idly with Mickey’s fingers.

“I killed my dad, Ian.  Well, technically Svetlana killed my dad, but I beat the shit out of him first.  Then I just stood there while she cracked his head open.  I could have stopped it.  I mean, I think I could have…”  he broke off.

“You never told me,”  Ian said quietly after a few minutes.  “What happened that day.  I wanted to be there for you, but you were so angry and -”

“I shut you down.  I know,”  Mickey rubbed his eyes.  “I just - like, I should be happy he’s gone, right?  After all the shit he did...he held a gun to my head that day.  He was going to kill me.  He raped my sister.  He told Svetlana he was going to rape her too.  He was going to take Geno back and who knows what the fuck he was going to do to you.  He deserved it.  Like, I fucking know that, but I can’t -  that’s not the way shit’s supposed to go down with your dad.  I loved him.  I don’t know why, but I did.  Like, I wish I could talk to him one last time, you know?  I mean, not _him_ him, because he’d just try to fucking kill me again.  Like…”

“Fantasy him.  Your dad, but different,”  Ian filled in.  “Someone who would actually listen.”  

“Yeah.  It just...it shouldn’t have ended like that.  I keep thinking if I had done something different, shit wouldn’t have gone down like it did,”  his voice cracked and he blinked, turning away.

“Mickey - “  Ian pulled the other man closer to him.  “It went down like that because your dad wouldn’t have let it happen any other way.  You and Svetlana did what you had to do.  He wouldn’t have stopped.  You know this.  It’s not your fault.”

Mickey took a deep, shuddering breath, staring down at the mattress for a long moment before he nodded slowly.

“So…”  Ian said when Mickey didn’t speak again.  It was clear he’d talked about his father as much as he could for one day.  Ian searched for a way to give Mickey an easy out without making him feel like he was shutting him down.

He didn’t have to think long - Mickey was the one who broke the quiet.  “It kinda pisses me off that you thought I was with Roger,”  he looked up at Ian.  “Like I don’t think you really get it, Ian.”

“Get what?”  Ian tried to battle back the defensive note in his voice, but wasn’t entirely successful.

“Do you think I told you I love you just to hear myself talk?  I’m in this, Ian.  Whatever you want to call it, it’s you and me now.”

“What are you saying?”  Ian furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I’m saying that I don’t want anybody else.  I don’t want you to want anybody else.  Whatever either of us did in the past doesn’t matter, but this is now.  If we’re going to be together, let’s fucking be together.  I don’t want something where you think I’d just go off and screw someone else like it’s no big deal.”

Ian couldn’t help the astonished laugh.  “What is this?  Are you _committing_?  Are we committed now?”

“Thought we already were, shithead,”  Mickey smacked his shoulder lightly, grinning, before his face went serious.  “But you kinda needed to hear it, didn’t you?”  

Ian reached out to cup Mickey’s face in his hands.  “I love you, Mickey.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”  Mickey’s playful smirk faded and he reached up to stroke Ian’s face in return.  “I love you too.”

It was slow and deep when Ian kissed him this time, the two of them pressed together so tightly he could feel the rapid thump of Mickey’s heartbeat against his chest.  

“Hey,”  It was a serious effort for Ian to break off the embrace, but something else had occurred to him. “That was just the first night.  If you weren’t with Roger, where did you go?”

Mickey flushed slightly. “Do you remember the cop at the station that day, the one who gave me his phone number?”

Ian's eyebrows nearly jumped off his forehead.  “No way!  You were staying with a _cop_?”

Mickey started to say something but Ian held up his hand.  “Hold on, I'm still trying to process this.  You are still Mickey Milkovich, right?  This isn't some pod person takeover that I'm too dense to figure out, right?”

“Can you stop being a smart ass for five fucking minutes?”  Mickey shook his head in mock exasperation.  “It’s a long story, ok?”

“Yeah, well guess what?  Now we got time,”  Ian arched an eyebrow, waiting.

“Alright then.  Settle in, Gallagher, because this is going to take a while.  Remember that night at the Alibi?  Well, O’Neill, that’s his name, he was there.  And he’s got this husband, Carlos, right?  So…”

* * *

The next morning Ian drifted towards consciousness slowly, easily, and woke feeling warm and so relaxed it would have been easy to drift right back off again, except he was far too aware of Mickey’s presence, their limbs tangled up together.  He pulled Mickey even closer, and the smaller man emitted a sleepy groan.

“You awake, Mickey?”  he whispered, pressing his mouth to the top of his head.

“No,”  Mickey protested, but his tone was contented.

“That was quite a tale you told me last night.  I want to meet your cop friend and his husband.  Thank him in person.”

“Well, we got an open invitation to dinner,”  Mickey yawned widely.  “Can we talk about this in a few hours?  I’m going back to sleep.”

“Or..”  Ian let his hand trail suggestively down Mickey’s thigh.

“Or…” Mickey agreed, grinning.

Neither one of them heard the door open, but they definitely noticed when Svetlana cleared her throat and they looked up to see her standing over them.  

“What the fuck -”  Mickey began.

“It’s about time,”  she welcomed him back with an eyeroll, ignoring his annoyed expression.  Then she nudged Ian in the side.  “I’m cold.  Move over.”

Ian agreeably shoved over, flipping the covers back so Svetlana could climb in next to him.

“Hey...Svetlana, no!  We don’t got any fucking clothes on under here!”  Mickey protested, sitting up.

“Neither of you have anything I am interested in,”  Svetlana settled back on Ian’s pillow with a sigh.  “This is nice.”

“Jesus Christ!”  If Mickey wasn’t uncomfortable enough, the level was doubled when Mandy strolled in, not even raising an eyebrow at the three of them in the bed.  Instead, she walked over to Mickey’s side of the bed, pushing at him until he made room, and then joined them, though thankfully sitting on top of the blanket.

“Welcome back, dickbreath,”  Mandy giggled at MIckey’s glower.  “Guess what?”  she continued brightly, ignoring Mickey muttering about four being a crowd.  “Iggy and Tasha got their place.  Looks like it’s going to be just us again.  Well, and Geno, of course.”

“Just us, my ass,”  Mickey grunted.  “Ian’s got a fucking anthill full of relatives.  They’ll be all over the place all the time.”

“This is true,”  Svetlana agreed.  “And I am sure Iggy and Tasha will be over a lot as well.  Their baby will not be much younger than Geno, almost like brother and sister instead of cousins.  It will be nice for him.”

“Oh, also, Bonnie might have to stay with us sometimes.  Carl’s girlfriend,”  Mandy supplied at Mickey and Svetlana’s looks of confusion.  “Just when her mom’s boyfriend comes around.  At least until I figure out what to do about him.”

Mickey frowned, considering.  “I think my car trunk’s big enough to transport a body,” he offered.

“Hey!”  Ian smacked him upside the head.  “I already almost had to spend the next forty years as a prison widow.  Let’s not go there again.”

Before anyone else could speak, there was a quiet thud from the living room, then the sound of a faint giggle.  Svetlana sat up.  “What was that?”  she demanded.  “Is Geno awake?”

The four of them fell silent for a moment, straining their ears to hear.  There was a soft scuffling noise but before any of them could jump out of the bed to investigate, the partially open bedroom door creaked and swung wide.  They all gasped as Geno came crawling in.

When the baby caught sight of them, he grinned toothily and grabbed the corner of the dresser, pulling himself to his feet.

“Holy shit, did he just climb out of his crib by himself?”  Mandy gasped.

“The little fucker can’t even walk yet!”  Despite himself, Mickey looked deeply impressed.  

Geno grinned even bigger, clearly pleased at all the undivided attention he was getting.  He let go of the dresser, and took one unsteady step towards the bed, then another.

There were a chorus of exclamations.  Startled, Geno lost his balance and fell to his chubby knees.  The threat of tears was dissipated when Svetlana reached down to pick him up.

“Hand him here,”  Mickey reached for the tot.  “Look at you, Geno Milkovich.  Becoming an escape artist and a two-footer all in one day.  We ain’t ever going to have a moment’s peace around here now.  What are we going to do with you, huh?”

“Don’t worry.  We'll figure it out,”  Ian grinned widely, reaching over to chuck Geno under the chin.

Mickey smiled at that.  “We always do.”

  
**-The End-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I was able to surprise you, at least a little, with the Gallavich times two reunion. Like a lot of you, I have seriously mixed feelings about Lip and Mandy. My heart wants them together so, so bad but my head is very much OH HELL NO. This was my way to get them to a point where I could at least resolve some things between them.
> 
> Anyway, I can't believe it's over. Though I do have an epilogue planned, just for fun, but this is it, folks. I really hope you enjoyed it. Writing this story was my 'hello, I'm here!' to a whole new fandom and y'all have welcomed me and made this such a wonderful experience. I just want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for that, and for reading, commenting, kudo'sing (is this a word? Well, it is now.) I've said it before but the fact that I could present something out of my head and people could actually like it...it feels so amazing, like winning the lottery or something. I cannot even express it. 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH.


	25. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One family dinner with more than one unexpected guest, several surprises, a break-up, a proposal, a fight, and a kidnapping...
> 
> It's a Semi-Charmed Life epilogue, y'all.

For what had to be the fifth time (or more, if the laser glare emitting from the person sitting on her bed was any indication) Mandy jumped up and paced the tiny bit of floor next to her bed.  “Well?’  she demanded finally.  “You’ve been making notes on it for twenty fucking minutes now.”

Amanda finally sat up, capping her pen, before she tossed the papers back to Mandy  “This is a lot better than what you started with.  Not exactly good, but there was some semblance of a cohesive narrative coming together there."

“Semblance of a co - what?”  Mandy stared at her.

Amanda chuckled.  “Never mind.  Just look over the notes I’ve left and fix it up a bit.”

Mandy looked sadly at the red-ink written remarks on nearly every paragraph.  By the looks of it, Amanda’s ‘helpful notes’ were longer than the whole fucking paper Mandy had written.  “By fix it up a bit, you mean rewrite it completely, don’t you?”

“You’re not wrong,”  Amanda was slipping her shoes back on now and reaching for her purse.  

“Where are you going?”  Mandy asked her, tossing the paper back on her bed, deciding the whole ‘why was I willing sign up for this hell?’ internal debate she had with herself every day about going back to school was just going to have to wait for a little while.  “It’s almost time to leave - I thought you were coming with us.”

Amanda’s smile slipped, and she looked away from Mandy’s gaze.  “I...may have uninvited myself,” she murmured.  Before Mandy could ask, Amanda looked at her directly.  “I broke up with Lip earlier today.”

“What?”  Mandy jumped up.  “ _Why?_ ”

Amanda looked at her steadily.  “You know why.”

Mandy swallowed hard, her mouth going dry.  “Look, Amanda, Lip and me are just friends now.  I swear that we didn’t- I mean, we haven’t - ”

“I know,”  Amanda was making quite a production of finding just the right pocket on her purse to shove her pen into.  “I don’t blame you.  I just - “  she looked up and her mouth was twisted in a bitter reproduction of a smile.  “Having the guy I’m with treat me like I’m just a stand in for the one he really wants to be with gets old super fast.”

Mandy crossed her arms over her chest.  “Yeah.  Believe me, I get it.”

Amanda exhaled shakily.  “Problem is, I think I might love him, you know?”

If guilt had a flavor, Mandy was tasting it now.  “Amanda, look, I’ll stay away from him,” she blurted out.  “This whole friends deal was fucking stupid anyway.  I promise I’ll never even talk to him again.  You guys can work it out.”

Amanda turned back to her, face perturbed, before she shook her head, breaking into a dry laugh.  “And what does that do for me, Mandy?  You really think I can’t do better than second choice?”

Mandy shook her head hurriedly.  “No, that’s not what I meant!”

“Yes, it was,”  Amanda looked at her coolly.  “That might be good enough for you, but it’s not for me.”

Mandy flinched at that, looking away.

After a moment, Amanda sighed.  “Sorry,”

Mandy shook her head.  “It's OK,” she turned back to Amanda.  “Look, I get it if you don’t want to tutor me anymore.”

“I thought about quitting,”  Amanda admitted now.  “But I think I’m going to stick it out,” she glanced over at the red ink scrawled pages on Mandy’s bed.  “Face it, you need me.”

“Yeah, but -“ Mandy began.

Amanda waved her off impatiently. “The thing is, I actually like you, Mandy.  And whether you’ve figured it out yet or not, you do deserve better than this," her gaze toured the room for a moment. "Maybe I like being part of helping you get it.”

Before Mandy could figure out just what to say to that, Amanda was gone, the beaded curtain that was Mandy’s door swinging behind her.  

* * *

Mickey opened the front door to the apartment carefully, looked cautiously around, and sighed in silent relief when there was nothing to confront him but the empty living room.  He proceeded cautiously, but his attempt at stealth was brought to an abrupt halt when he tripped over the purple backpack that had been left just inside the doorway, dropping the styrofoam cup he held in the process.  Luckily, it was almost empty.

“Son of a goddamn motherfucker - DEBBIE!”

“Yes?”  Debbie peeked her head over the half divider between the kitchenette and the living room.  He could see Svetlana standing behind her, leaning down to peek into a chuckling pot on the stove.  Geno was in his highchair, banging an empty sippy cup impatiently on his tray, and Liam was peeking at Mickey shyly from around Debbie’s legs.

“Can you please put your shit away when you come over?  We already got one fucking cripple in the family; we don’t need two.”

“Sorry,” Debbie sing-songed, not looking sorry at all.  He didn’t enjoy the amount of side-eye she was giving him; Ian’s kid sister was developing an attitude, and lately, it all seemed directed right at him.  

He walked a few steps closer to grab a towel from the counter.  “Why the hell are you guys cooking?  We’re going out to eat in like fifteen minutes!”

“Svetlana’s showing me how to make…”  Debbie hesitated a minute.  “Ponchiki, right?”  she beamed at Svetlana’s nod.  “They’re like a donut.  Figured we could have it for dessert, or for breakfast tomorrow or something.”

“ ‘K, well, hurry up; we’re gonna be late.  Where’s Ian and Mandy?”

“Mandy’s in her room studying and Ian went to the store to get more diapers.  Should be back any minute.”  

“Alright,”  Relieved, Mickey went back into the living room to clean up his minor spill and dispose of the contraband before Ian got home.  

Of course his dumb luck ran out as soon as he kneeled down to scrub up the few spots on the carpet.  The door open and Ian walked in, carrying a brown paper bag that he tossed on the couch.  “Hey, you’re back!  You were gone longer than I thought for a quick run to the Alibi.”

Mickey had dropped the towel as soon as he saw his boyfriend, jumping to his feet, one hand behind his back.

“Yeah, uh, had some business,” he mumbled.  “I gotta, uh - “ he gestured helplessly towards the hallway before he started to back away.

“Mickey?  What’s wrong with you?”  Ian was staring at him in suspicious confusion.  “And what’s behind your back?”

“Nothin’!”  Mickey snapped defensively.  “Look, I’m going to go change and then we can get out of here.”  Once again, he started to surreptitiously edge his way past Ian.

Ian huffed out an impatient breath and next thing Mickey knew, he was being physically turned around and his fingers forced open.  “Hey, Sasquatch Boy, watch how you handle the merchandise!”

“Explain this,”  Ian held out his hand and Mickey went slightly pale as he saw the styrofoam cup clutched in it.  

“Uh...that’s not mine,” he looked away.

“ _It’s not yours_ ,” Ian repeated, rolling his eyes.  “Mickey, this is from the same place that I saw you and Roger at,” Popping the plastic top, he sniffed the inside of the cup.  ‘And it’s fresh!  Business at the Alibi, my ass - you’re still having coffee dates with Roger behind my back?”

As Ian’s voice rose, Mickey saw Svetlana and Debbie peeking out from the kitchenette as if they were some fascinating floor show.  He shot a glare at them before turning to look up at a scowling Ian.

“You gonna tell me who I can and can’t be friends with now?  Jesus Christ, Ian, I already got one nagging spouse breathing down my neck; you think I need two?”

“Roger wants to be more than your friend.  He wants a ride on the Milkovich Express.  I’m not OK with that. You know, coffee date still has the word ‘date’ in it!”

“Jesus, Ian,”  Mickey turned back to him in exasperation.  “I didn’t go there to meet Roger.  I like the coffee, OK?”

“You like the…”  Ian looked back at the cup, bewildered.  “You’re full of shit.  You expect me to believe you’re all about the six dollars a cup, double pump, extra dry, bullshit?”

“I think Mickey likes his double pump on the moist side,”  Svetlana volunteered from the kitchen, looking up from the pot that she was scooping freshly fried pastries from.  Debbie giggled wildly.

Mickey glowered in their direction before turning back to Ian.  “Quad Grande Extra Hot Macchiato Upside Down, if you must know.  What can I say?  It’s like crack in a cup.”  

Ian just stared at him, slightly open-mouthed, before he was distracted by his cell phone chime.   He dug it out of his pocket to read the message that had popped up on his screen, raising his eyebrows and then breaking into a grin.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?  Getting sexts from one of your many admirers?”  Mickey snapped.

“Nope,”  Ian continued to grin.  “Another one of yours, actually,”  he held the phone out and read the message off the screen.  “ **Ian and Mickey!  Dinner party at my place, Friday, 8:00 p.m. Casual dress.  RSVP!  Directions incoming!  You know you love me.  XOXO Scott**.”

“Jesus, he would quote fucking Gossip Girl,”  Mickey rolled his eyes.

“How did you know that was from Gossip Girl?  God, I really don’t know you at all, do I?”  Ian laughed at Mickey’s murderous look in return.  “So, what do you want to tell him?”

“Not a fucking thing,”  Mickey said.  “Resounding silence gets the ‘I’d rather put my balls through a food processor’ message across well enough.”  

“Aw, you don’t want to hang out with your number one fan?  Shame,”  Ian contemplated the text message once more, and then smiled wickedly as he started to type.  “ _Can’t...wait…_ ”  he spoke as he hit the keys.  “ _See...you...there..._ ”

“Hell no!”  Mickey made a futile grab for Ian’s phone but Ian simply held it over his head, well out of Mickey’s reach, continuing to type with his thumb.  

“ _XOXO...Ian...and...M…_ ”

“I swear to fucking God, drop it or I’m going to punch you in the dick!”

“No, you won’t,” Ian smiled smugly.  “You value it too much to risk damaging the goods.”

“True,”  Mickey said thoughtfully.  With that, he sucker punched Ian in the stomach, pulling it at the last second to avoid any real damage.  Ian doubled over, wheezing, and the phone slipped from his grasp right into Mickey’s waiting hands.  

“That’s what you get,”  Mickey snickered as Ian straightened up, dodging his boyfriend’s long reach as he deleted Ian’s incomplete text and began dictating his own.  “ _Lose...my...number...you...desperate...queen..._ ”

“Mickey, no!”  Ian made another fruitless grab for the phone and Mickey ducked away again.  “You can’t say that shit to him.  He’s still recovering from a break up.  He’s fragile!  Come on, give me the phone.  At least I can let him down easy.”

“You want it, come and get it,”  Mickey grinned and with that, he crooked his finger in a beckoning gesture at Ian before he disappeared like a shot down the hallway, a laughing Ian in hot pursuit.

* * *

Mandy was still lost in thought as she poked around her closet, trying to decide what she wanted to wear, and trying to ward off her secondary train of thought , the one that kept her wondering what was going to happen between her and Lip now that Amanda had removed herself from the equation.  

The distant banging from the front door was a welcome interruption.  She hurried from her room to find that Svetlana and Debbie had already let in their visitor, Kev, who was standing right inside their door, looking even more oversize than usual inside their tiny apartment.

“Hey, Mandy!”  Kev greeted her.  “Your brother here?”

“Sure,”  Mandy turned.  “Mickey?”  she called out. “Kev’s here…”  Mandy’s voice trailed off as she looked around the apartment.  “Where are you guys?”  she raised her voice before looking back at Kev.  

She looked towards the kitchenette to see Svetlana and Debbie exchanging mutual eye rolls.  “Guess,” Svetlana offered dryly as she dusted off her hands.

The boys’ bedroom door banged open then, and Ian and Mickey toppled out, both still hurriedly zipping up zippers, adjusting disarrayed clothing, and smoothing back mussed hair.

“Oh seriously, _again_?”  Mandy shook her head in amazement.  

“You two uh...ready?”  Kev snorted in amusement.  

Mickey was completely unabashed.  “Yeah, but we were just going to walk over,” he shot a look at Svetlana and Debbie in the kitchenette.  “Iggy and Tasha should be here any time too.  We ain’t all gonna fit in your truck.”

“I know; thought I’d take your brother and Tasha, spare them the walk.  Also, got some things I wanted to go over with you…”  Kev broke off.

Before Kev could continue, without word or warning, Debbie suddenly dropped her potholder on the counter, marched directly over to Mickey, drew back her foot, and kicked him hard as she could, directly in the shin.

“Ow!!  What the fuck?”  Mickey doubled over, grasping his leg.

“Debbie!”  Ian burst out, shocked.  “What the hell are you doing?”

Debbie was looking at Mickey defiantly as he straightened up, glaring at her.  Despite her bravado, Mandy noticed that she quickly put the length of the room between them before answering. “Ian’s therapist says it’s important to not keep your feelings bottled up.  It’s your fault he doesn’t live at home any more, I miss him, and I felt the need to share that with you.”

“Good for you, Debs,”  Mandy was unable to hide her amusement, exchanging gleeful looks with Kev and her sister-in-law.  “We gotta a baseball bat if you want to express yourself some more.”

“No thanks; I’m good,”  Debbie did seem far cheerier now that she had dealt some damage, though she was still watching Mickey warily.

“Huh,”  Mickey appeared to be thinking it over.  “Well, I guess we’re square then,” he shrugged and then limped over to the couch, all signs of anger immediately gone.  

Now it was Ian who was looking deeply irritated.  “How the hell do you know what my therapist says?”  he demanded, looking at his little sister.  “Debbie, have you been reading my journal?!”

“Of course,”  Debbie turned back to Svetlana and began to shake powdered sugar over the plate that held their fresh offering.  “It’s fascinating.”

“Debbie, it’s supposed to be private!”  

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone,”  Debbie beamed innocently at svetlana, who looked deeply amused.

“First of all, you just did, and secondly, that’s not the point!”  

Debbie looked remarkably unconcerned.

“Hey,” Mickey nudged Ian’s shoulder.  “If we’re going to go, let’s go.”

“Fine,”  Ian gave his sister a hard stare.  “Stay out of my stuff from now on, OK?”  

Debbie shrugged.  “I’m only agreeing because I haven’t figured out where you keep it here yet.”

“Alright, alright, random acts of violence and rites of confession all behind us now?  Good.  Mickey, can we have a word?”  Kev broke in impatiently.

“It’s gonna have to wait - let’s get this show on the fucking road.  Svetlana, Debbie, grab the kids and we’ll meet Iggy and Tasha outside.”  Mickey headed to the door, shaking his head at Ian.  “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Hey, I just wanted to meet your cop and his husband.  It was your idea to bring everybody.  It’s kinda sweet,”  Ian reminded him as everyone squeezed past them through the open door and into the hallway his boyfriend waved him out the door.  

“Yeah, well, hit me if I ever get any more brilliant ideas that involve coordinating both our families.  Would be easier to get Congress to let Obama pass a fucking bill.”

 

When they got to the stairs that led to their floor, the group stopped abruptly.

Lip sat on the top step, a slowly disintegrating cigarette clutched in his fingers, staring morosely downward.  He looked up when he heard them approach, but his gaze seemed to only be for Mandy.

“Hey, Lip!”  Kev began cheerily, but broke off when he saw the looks on the rest of their faces.  “Um...OK….anybody else suddenly feeling super uncomfortable?”

“Oh yeah,”  Debbie nodded vigorously.

Mandy, Ian, and Svetlana were looking warily at Mickey - it was the first time he and Lip had encountered each other since their fist fight a week back.  

Mickey’s eyes were cold as they fixed on his boyfriend’s brother.  His lips worked furiously for a moment, until finally he huffed out a sigh, shook his head silently, then walked past Lip down the stairs, his feet thudding each step.

Ian looked back at Mandy.  “Um...we’ll wait outside.  See you two in a few, ‘k?”

“Thanks,”  Mandy touched his arm before he and the others departed.

Once they were gone, she sank down on the step next to Lip.  “I heard,”  she said quietly.

“I figured,”  Lip flicked cigarette ash carelessly on to the step.  “Passed Amanda leaving.  I’m actually going to have to look up some of the words she called me.”

Mandy laughed a little before she looked back at Lip, who was once again staring at the carpet.  “You seem pretty down,”  she said finally.

“Yeah, well…”  Lip shook his head.  “Not like I didn’t expect it.  I’m just...I’m so fucking sick of myself, you know?  I should feel shitty.  I should feel so much worse than this.  Amanda’s great.  She was everything I could have asked for.  And I just - don’t care.  Let another good one slip right through my fingers and I don’t give a fuck.  What does that say about me?”

Mandy just stared ahead, her eyes just intent on the carpet as Lip’s had been a moment ago.  “I don’t know,” she finally managed.

Lip was looking at her now; she could feel his gaze nearly burning a hole through the side of her head.  “Mandy, there’s so many fucking things I want to say to you. But right now...I think I need to just... _not_ , you know?”

Mandy nodded as she turned to him.  “Yeah.  Same.”

They were both silent for a moment, before Lip covered Mandy’s hand with his own and squeezed.  “Maybe later on…” he began.

“No,”  Mandy shook her head.  “Don’t make me any promises.  I don’t want it, and I’m not going to make any back.  We’ll see what happens.”  

“Yeah, probably a good idea,”  Lip agreed.  

They were quiet for a minute, then Lip stood up and reached out a hand to help her to her feet as well.  “They’re waiting.  Guess we should go,”  Together they began the descent in silence until Lip spoke again.  “So, after this thing, you want to hang out for a while?”   he scratched his nose, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Mandy was distracted before she could answer by a buzz on her phone.  She paused halfway down the stairs, pulling it out to look at the text message.   **Miss you.  Tonight?  -Antonio**

“Yeah, I’m definitely not going to be available,”  she started to type a response with her thumbs as they made it the second flight of stairs and headed outside.

“Antonio, huh?”  Lip was unapologetically reading over her shoulder.  “Sounds like a Rent-A-Stud.  Perfect name for the rebound guy.”

Mandy shrugged.  “If it makes you feel better, I might think about you while I’m screaming the stud’s name out tonight.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that.”

“Yeah, pretty much,”  Mandy grinned at that and bounced the rest of the way down the steps to where the others were waiting for them, leaving Lip in her wake.

* * *

“Hey, Mickey,”  when they reached the sidewalk, Kev jerked his head, indicating Mickey should walk with him.  “Since we gotta wait for the latest episode of the Lip & Mandy Show to finish up anyway, let’s have that talk.”

Mickey exchanged a quizzical look with Ian before he followed Kev a short distance away.

Kev turned to him.  “Heard you were at the bar this morning.  How come you didn’t tell me you were coming in?”

Mickey stared at him.  “Since when am I punching a clock, Kev?  I had some shit to handle there and you weren’t around.  If you’re gonna start doggin’ my footsteps you can throw a little overtime my way while you're at it.”

“Spare me the cat on a hot tin roof routine.  I’m just saying, I would have liked it if you’d let me know.  Maybe I coulda helped with whatever it was.  See, Mickey, the thing is, a partnership is about give and take.”

Mickey snorted loudly at this.  “Yeah, I notice it seems like I give, you take.”

“First of all, not true.  See, we gotta work on our communication.  Really build the trust, you know?  And, as a token of my trust in you, I’m willing to give you a larger role to play at the Alibi,”  Kev smiled widely, watching Mickey carefully for his reaction.

Mickey eyed him suspiciously.  “A larger role?  In other words, you’re still knee deep in the red and you want me to invest more money, right?”

“Well, yeah…”  Kev admitted.  “But think about it, Mickey.  You could be more than just a pimp.  Which you’re totally not allowed to stop being, because your girls bring in more money in a week than I see in a month on my own.  But you could be a partner, a bonafried - fied...what the fuck ever.  Point is, you can be like, legit, you know?”

“Huh,”  Mickey studied him carefully.  “Where am I supposed to come up with enough to actually buy a piece of your pie?”

“You’re creative,”  Kev grinned.  “You’ll think of something.”

“And you’re willing to commit this to paper?”  Mickey raised an eyebrow.

Kev looked far more reluctant at this, but finally he nodded.  “I’ll put my John Hancock on it.  10% of the Alibi will belong to Mickey Milkovich.”

“Fuck that.  25% minimum, or we ain’t even talking about this.”

Kev groaned, looking skyward.  “Fine,” he said after a long moment.  “You come up with the funds to invest, and you’ve got a deal.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good!”  Kev slapped him on the back.  “See, the communication and the trust is building already, right?”

“Whatever you say,”  Mickey raised his eyebrows.  “Actually, I’m glad to hear you feel that way, Kev, because while I was at the bar this morning I fired Paco.”

“What?”  Kev’s eyes widened in shock.  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Mickey shrugged.  “He was stealing from the till, and he set up that robbery last year too.”

“No, he - “ Kev broke off, stunned.  “Seriously?”

Mickey nodded.  

“Well, fuck!”  Kev looked disgusted.  “That means I gotta go back to working nights until I get someone else! Goddammit, fucking Paco…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mickey grinned.  “Already took care of that for you.  Iggy can start tomorrow night,”  With that, he turned, heading back towards Ian, Lip, and Mandy.  “Oh look, here’s Iggy now,”  he gestured down the street, where Iggy and Tasha had appeared in the distance, making their way towards the apartment.  “You can talk to him about all the details when you’re running him over to the house.”

“Wait...what?”  Kev’s eyes bulged.  “Oh hell no...Iggy? You ever heard the one about jumping from the frying pan into the fire?  Wait, Mickey, hold up...we gotta talk about this!”

* * *

Kev’s attempt to regain Mickey’s attention was lost when the assembled group saw Mandy and Lip exiting the apartment complex.  Ian watched the two of them warily, noticing that both were smiling and seemed relaxed enough, but there was a good amount of distance between them.  Just as quickly as he wondered what that could mean, he decided he really didn’t give a fuck.  They were both grown; they could figure out their merry-go-round all by themselves.  Ian was more concerned about the fact that Mickey was watching them both as well, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the concrete wall that divided their apartment building from the next lot over.

Silently, Ian willed Lip to be...well, anything but _Lip_ , for at least long enough for them to get moving without another fistfight.  And as if Lip had read his younger brother’s mind, he made a beeline directly towards Mickey.

“Jesus,”  Ian rolled his eyes heavenward, wondering not for the first time why his older brother could never resist poking a sleeping bear.

Lip leaned on the wall next to Mickey, and Ian watched worriedly as the two assessed each other.

“Asshole,” Mickey finally grunted, digging a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lighting one.

“Psycho,” Lip returned.  “You got another one of those?”  

Mickey shook another cigarette out and tossed it towards Lip.  In silence, the two of them puffed and exhaled simultaneously.

Luckily, there wasn’t too much time to test the fragile peace treaty.  Kev loaded Iggy and Tasha into his truck, managing to squeeze in Debbie and Liam as well, and sped off, sending Mickey one last deeply reproachful look first.  

“We ready?”  Ian said after a few seconds.

“Yeah,” both Mickey and Lip agreed, but they were cut off by Lip’s cell.  He pulled it out of his pocket, gave the screen a puzzled look, and clicked it on.

“Yeah?” he said, tone slightly suspicious.  After a moment his eyes widened.  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ian started to ask, but Lip held up a hand, cutting him off.  “Yeah and…?’ he listened again for a moment, and started to laugh.  “You think that’s a good idea? Alright, it’s your fucking funeral,”  Annoyed with Ian’s continual questions, he walked out of hearing distance then, smirk growing ever wider by the second.

Mandy, Ian, and Mickey exchanged puzzled looks, before they began walking after him.  Svetlana clearly couldn’t care less; she pushed Geno’s stroller beside them, muttering to herself in Russian and shaking her head.

A block later and Lip was clicking off the phone, waiting for them to catch up.

“Who was that?”  Ian asked him.

Lip just grinned.  “Patience, little brother.  Believe me, you don’t want to miss this one.”  

* * *

A few minutes later they were walking up the steps to the Gallagher homestead.

It was packed...Kev had beaten them there by several minutes.  Sheila was hovering awkwardly in the kitchen, looking out of place as always, and Sammi and Frank were sitting together on the loveseat.  Iggy was on the chair next to them, and all three of them had their heads together, talking quietly.  Ian had no interest in hearing what they were saying...he was pretty sure he’d be less culpable not knowing.

On the couch that had so recently been Ian’s bed, Fiona held either Amy or Gemma on her lap; Ian hadn’t been able to master telling them apart yet, while V tried to get the kicking todder’s foot buckled into a sandal.  Tasha was on the other side of Fiona, holding the other twin on her lap and talking a mile a minute.

“I want to be a really open-minded mom, you know?  Because what if our kid isn’t anything like what we expect> Like, what if she turns out to be one of those kids that likes to read for fun or some weird shit like that?  I would totally support that, even though I used to beat those kinds of kids up in school.”

Iggy broke off his clandestine conversation at that to lean towards his girlfriend.  “Hey, me too!  Kids in my school were fucking scared to even walk in the library with me around.”

“Yeah!”  Tasha nodded in agreement as Fiona and V exchanged looks.  “I mean, I feel kinda bad about it now but that shit makes me nervous.  What do people need to know so much that they gotta have their nose in a book all day?   _What are they planning?_ ”

“Well,”  Lip interjected, leaning against the staircase railing. “No one can say you two aren’t perfect for each other.”

Tasha shot him a glacial look.  “No one fucking asked _you_ , college boy.”

Fiona stood up then before Lip could retort.  “Debbie, you took Liam to the bathroom?”  she waited for her sister’s nod.  “Good.  Got a change of clothes for him just in case? Alright then.  Carl, for the last time, change that goddamn shirt!”

“Hey, that’s mine!”  Lip burst out as everyone looked over at Carl, who was proudly sporting a t-shirt with more printed ‘fucks’ than one could shake a stick at.  

“Aw, man!”  Carl shot a glare around the room before he stomped upstairs, prodded by another blistering look from Fiona.

“V, Svetlana, we got everything we need for the babies?  Good.  As soon as Carl gets changed, we can get out of here,”  Fiona turned back to see Tasha staring at her.  “What?”

“You know, you kinda remind me of my older sister, getting everyone together and stuff.  Tamara always took care of me growing up. She’s a lot like you,” Tasha sighed.  “Except, you know, meaner.  She’s a fucking know-it-all, holier than thou tight ass who hasn’t talked to me in a month because she says I’m throwing my life away getting pregnant this young.  Like that isn’t some pot and kettle shit; she had her first when she was sixteen, second a year later.  At least I’m twenty!”

“She probably just doesn’t want to see you make her mistakes,”  V said, picking up her well loaded diaper bag and slinging it over her shoulder.  

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t have to be such an asshole about it.  She fucking hung up on me when I called to tell her I’m having a girl.  Didn’t even wait to hear the news first,”  Tasha grumbled.  “Who needs her, anyway?”

Fiona smiled at that.  “You really miss her, huh?”

Tasha sighed, face downcast.  “Hella lot.”

Fiona contemplated her for a moment.  “You still got those ultrasound pictures?”

“Sure,”  Tasha looked confused.

“Take them to her.  She gets an eyeful of those, she’ll come around,”  Fiona smiled.  “Trust me.”

“You think so?”  Tasha asked hopefully.  Then, without warning, she launched herself at Fiona, hugging her tightly.  “Thank you!”

“Well...alright then!”  Fiona hugged her back tentatively and stepped back as soon as she could, shooting a look at Ian, who shrugged, grinning.  

* * *

It took several more shouted orders from Fiona, Mickey nearly banging his head on the wall in frustration, and Frank sneaking off to share a joint with Iggy in the bathroom before their collective assembly was finally ready.  Their motley crew walked the ten blocks to Gordo’s, where a bored looking host sidled up to them as Ian and Mickey approached the counter.  “How many?”  Before they could answer, his eyes widened as he saw the number of people filing in the door behind them.  “Um...hmmm…”  Ian turned back and began to count.  “Seventeen, I think?”

“Oh sir, I am sorry but groups should be booked in advance,” the host shook his head sorrowfully.  “I am afraid we do not have a table large enough to accommodate - “

“Mickey!  You made it!”  A cheerful voice broke in and Ian saw Officer O’Neill coming from the back of the restaurant, accompanied by a beaming man that could only be Carlos.

“No need to worry, Jesse, these are our special guests and we will make arrangements for them.  Go put some tables together and be sure to leave room for Lenny and me,”  Carlos waved his anxious host away jovially.

“Ian!”  ONeill was zeroing in on him now.  “So happy to see you again,”  he reached out to shake Ian’s hand.

“Officer O’Neill,”  Ian managed.  

“No, no, no, call me Lenny.  Or at the very least, just O’Neill like your boyfriend here,”  Lenny indicated Mickey with a jerk of his head.  

Carlos, in the meanwhile, had leaned down over the stroller, looking enraptured.  A second later, he was bouncing the bemused looking toddler in the air.  “This is Geno, of course!”  he exclaimed, before turning to Svetlana.  “And Svetlana!”  with that, he kissed her soundly on both cheeks.

Ian raised a surprised eyebrow at Carlos’s familiarity with all of them, giving Mickey a significant look.

“What?”  Mickey muttered back.  “He asks a lot of questions, OK?”

Still holding Geno, Carlos had also showered Ian and Mandy with effusive greetings before turning to the others.  “But so many of you, I do not know yet!”  With that, he passed Geno over to his husband before taking both V and Fiona’s hands and leaning down to kiss them.  “Such beautiful ladies...I am so pleased to make your acquaintance!  And you...” he turned to Sheila.  “...are no less a vision!”  he treated her to the same double cheek kiss treatment that he’d given Svetlana while Sheila nearly melted in her shoes.

“Damn,”  Kev stage whispered while Carlos moved on to Tasha and Debbie and proceeded to charm them thoroughly, “Why is it that gay guys always got the best game?”

“Fuck if I know, but those are some mad panty dropping skills, I’m not going to lie,”  Iggy mused.  “Seems kind of a waste.”

“A lot of it’s the accent,”  V sighed and waved her hand in front of her face.  “That voice oughta be recorded for posterity.  I could fuck to the sound of him reading the take out menu.”

“ _V!_ ”  Fiona whispered, trying not to laugh.

“I agree,” said Lenny behind them conversationally, grinning when V jumped and then joining in her loud laughter once she’d recovered.

Once the small army of Carlos’s waitstaff descended to push together multiple tables and set up the high chairs, they sat down across from Lenny and a still beaming Carlos.  A dark-eyed, olive skinned waitress who looked like she possibly modeled for swimsuit pictorials on her off days handed out menus, seeming to enjoy the wide-eyed stare of most of the males of the group.  When she reached Carl, she shot him a wink, and Ian’s little brother nearly slid off his chair.

“Thank you, Gabrielle,”  Carlos told her when she finished, looking up from the conversation he’d fallen into with Sheila and Fiona.  Gabrielle sauntered away, pausing to throw one last mischievous grin over her shoulder.

“That’s some talent. She looks as good going as she did coming,”  Lip grinned, opening his menu, missing Mandy’s eyeroll.

“Damn straight,”  Iggy chortled, only to be brought up short by his girlfriend’s glare.

“What did you just say?”  Tasha demanded, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Uh oh,”  Ian and Mickey muttered simultaneously, recognizing the signs of an imminent Hurricane Tasha on the horizon.  “Batten down the hatches, yo,”  Mickey added quietly.

“Uh…nothing, babe…”  Iggy attempted to grin and slide an arm around Tasha’s waist, which Ian felt was extraordinarily brave, since there was no guarantee he was going to get that arm back.

“Don’t fucking tell me nothing, you greasy haired, waitress watching, girlfriend disrespecting motherfucker!”

“And they’re off,”  Ian said out of the side of his mouth.  The rest of the table had fallen silent by this time, eyeing the couple warily.  

“You were checking her out backwards and forwards!  Good tits, right?  Perfect little ass? Better than mine, right?”  Tasha was on a roll now, voice rising at an alarming rate.

“Tasha, c’mon!  I wasn’t...I mean, I’m not blind, OK?  It doesn’t mean anything!  I like your ass just fine, the bigger the better, right?”  Iggy held up his hands defensively.

“Oh God, this boy wants to die,”  V murmured to the rest of the table and there were quiet snickers all around.

“You calling me a fat ass?”  Tasha was raging now, standing up abruptly.  “Well, let me remind you that you seemed to like my big ass just fine when you were holding onto it and knocking me the fuck up!”

“Carl, put that away!”  Fiona hissed suddenly from across the table, and Ian saw that his little brother had pulled out his cell phone and was filming the argument, a wide grin on his face.

“No way; this is youtube gold!”  Carl grinned.

Mandy cleared her throat.  “Somebody might want to move the knives,” she suggested quietly and with an alarmed expression, Carlos hurriedly moved the silverware out of grabbing distance.

Iggy and Tasha were standing face to face now, yelling at each other.  The accusations were flying so rapidly now that it was hard to make out a single sentence, until finally, looking like he’d reached the end of an ever shortening tether, Iggy reached into his pocket and slammed something down on the table. “You are so fucking unreasonable!  I can’t believe I want to spend the rest of my life with you!”  

There was a collective gasp, then abrupt silence reigned as Tasha stared down at the small, black, velvet box, at an incredibly rare loss for words.  After a long moment, she picked it up with trembling fingers.  “Are you serious right now?” she finally whispered.

Looking abashed, Iggy shoved his hands in his pockets.  “Yeah, I mean, kinda thought it was a given, you and me.  Plus we’re having a kid...might as well make it legal, right?”

Tasha popped open the box to reveal the simple diamond ring.  

“It’s shitty,”  Iggy said quickly.  “Someday maybe we can get something better…”  Whatever else he was going to say was lost as Tasha launched herself at him, laughing and crying at the same time.  

“This is fantastic!”  Carlos was beaming as he led the restaurant in a round of applause.  “I did not realize you would all be so entertaining!”

MIckey leaned over to Ian, looking equal parts amused and annoyed.  “I didn’t know he was going to do this shit.  Did he tell you?  Since when am I not in the fucking loop?”

Ian shook his head.  “Didn’t say a word to me.  It’s sweet though, huh?”

Iggy and Tasha parted after several minutes, both of them looking fairly overcome.  “I didn’t mean to do it like this, you know, I had a whole speech, and uh, there was another surprise - “  Iggy was cut off when Tasha attacked his face again.  

“We must have a toast to the happy couple!”  Carlos stood up, gesturing to a waiter, but before he could continue, there was a fresh disruption when a giant bear of a man came storming into the dining room, the harried looking host chasing after him.

“TASHA?”  The man bellowed, looking around anxiously, his bronzed brow furrowed anxiously.  “Where’s my baby?”

“ _Daddy?!_ ”  Tasha gasped.  “Oh my God, what are you doing here?”

The man beamed and picked up Tasha in a bear crushing hug, swinging her in a circle.  “Surprise, baby!  I got early release!”

“That was the other thing,”  Iggy was beaming as wide as the stranger in their midst.  “I’ve been visiting your dad at the prison on the down low.  We planned this all out together.”

“Oh my God, really?”  Tasha was crying again, reaching up her hand to wipe the tears away, and her father’s gaze fell on the ring adorning his daughter’s finger.

“Sorry,”  Iggy said quickly, but he was unable to hide his huge grin.  “It kinda slipped out already.”

“You crazy fools!  Come here, you!”  Tasha’s father grabbed Iggy and affectionately noogied his head, before he turned to the large group before them, beaming, and held out his arms.  “New family!  Get the hell up here and hug my neck!”  

Ian learned quickly where Tasha had gotten both her lack of boundaries and ability to Insta-Bond with strangers;  dinner was delayed by a good fifteen minutes because her father, who introduced himself as Dexter, insisted on going up and down the table to greet and hug each and every single one of them.  

“Dude, we’re not actually related - “ Carl tried to protest when Dexter reached him, but the rest of his words were lost when the man grabbed him in a bone cracking embrace.  

When finally Dexter was done, they all sat back down and Dexter made short work of the huge bowls of chips, guacamole and salsa on the table, groaning in delight every time he took a bite.  “Like I’ve died and gone to heaven,”  he informed a beaming Carlos.  “‘Course anything would taste good after years of prison food, but this is quality stuff right here.  Can’t wait to sample the menu.”

Carlos leaned forward.  “You have an accent!  Not that I am one to talk, but where are you from?”

“Georgia born and bred,”  Dexter informed him and the rest of the table, eating half the remaining salsa in one go.  “Should’ve never moved to this coldass burg, except if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had my baby girl here,”  he touched his daughter’s face affectionately.   

“Anyway, I’m going back as soon as my probation can get transferred over there.  Y’all ever heard of Jaelor & Roberts Family Farms?  My family owns that! It’s huge - shipping fresh produce to half the country these days.  They’ve wanted me to come back home for years and work there again and I’m ready to see the last of this place.  I’m taking these two with me,”  he gestured with an enormous hand at Tasha and Iggy.  “Sunshine, family, work for both of them...a bum leg ain’t gonna hold Iggy back none there; we’ll keep him on the tractor or an ATV all day.”  He took the new basket of chips the waiter brought to him with an easy grin.  “It’s a good life. If I’d stayed there, wouldn’t have gotten into half the trouble I’ve been in.”

“Can you believe it, Mickey?” Iggy grinned across the table at his brother.  “I’m going to be like the farmer in the dell or some shit!”  After a few seconds his smile faded.  “I mean, I hate to leave you and Mandy, you know, but…”

“No, man,”  Mickey shook his head as Mandy agreed.  “That sounds like it’s gonna be really good for you.  You can’t pass that shit up.”

“Won’t be for probably ‘bout a year anyway,” Dexter broke in.  “The wheels of justice move goddamn slow around here.  We gonna have a baby and a wedding before we go south, that’s for sure!”  he tossed  the empty chip basket away from him casually and gestured at one of their long suffering waiters to bring another one.

“You know who else would do real well there?  This young man here,”  Dexter gestured at Carl as he drained his water glass.  “Like looking at me thirty years ago.  If I was skinny and white,” he grinned.  “I recognize that restlessness; this boy’s going to end up in a pack of trouble if he don’t find some way to release all that energy. No better way than life on a farm; put him to work, teach him how to grow things and take care of animals and be responsible.  Be good for him.  He don’t have to wait for me to get transferred there.  I can set it up if you want; soon as school lets out this year, you can send him on down.  My folks would be happy to have him. This boy spends a summer there, he’ll come back a man.”  

“Are you serious?”  Fiona leaned forward.

“Sure, least I can do for family,”  Dexter shrugged and finished off the rest of the basket.

Carl looked horrorstruck.  “Seriously, we are not related in any possible way - !”  he started to protest.

“That’s no way to talk to your Uncle Dexter, Carl,” Fiona cut her brother off hurriedly before she leaned towards the big man.  “Let’s exchange numbers.”

“Boy, you’re going to love it,”  Dexter assured Carl as Fiona wrote her information on a napkin and he returned the favor.

“Yeah, right.  I ain’t no hayseed planting, chicken feeding - wait a minute,”  Carl broke off.  “Do I get to drive the tractor too?”  

Dexter shrugged.  “Show you’re responsible enough, we’ll get you on one.”

“Ride horses?”

“Of course.  You’ll be in a saddle before the first week is out.”

“And slaughter pigs?”

“Well, they ain’t gonna slaughter them damn selves!”  Dexter laughed loudly at his own joke.

“Cool!  Can I bring my girlfriend?”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

* * *

The rest of the evening passed by in a pleasant haze of good food and loud conversation.  Their large party easily outlasted the other diners, and the restaurant was nearly empty, Frank and Sammi had mumbled something about checking on some merchandise that had ‘fallen off a truck’ and slipped out, Amy and Gemma were back in their double stroller, sleeping next to the table, and Geno was drooping in his high chair when the evening finally began winding down.

“One last drink!”  Carlos was pouring margaritas from a vast pitcher into everyone’s glasses and passing them down the table, before switching to a smaller one that he used to fill up Debbie and Carl’s glasses.  “Virgin margaritas for you two,” he chuckled at their crestfallen expressions.

Ian noticed Lip looking at his phone again, checking the time, something he’d been doing with increasing frequency over the last hour.  “You waiting on something?” he leaned over, keeping his voice down.  

“Well, I was, but I think someone pussied out,”  Lip shrugged.  “Not really surprised - “ he broke off suddenly, looking towards the entrance.

Ian followed his gaze, hearing the sound of a car pulling up near by, but still confused as to what had his brother so enraptured all of the sudden. “What are you looking at?”  he asked out of the side of his mouth.

Lip grinned and instead of answering, he suddenly stood up.  “I’d like to propose a toast,”  he raised his glass.  “To family, new friends, and new beginnings!”

“To family!”  They all chorused back and drank as one.

“You might want to keep those glasses in the air,”  Lip was smirking once again.

There were several baffled glances at that, and then there was the chime of the restaurant door opening.

“I’m sorry, sir, we are done serving for the evening,”  they heard Gabrielle say.

“That’s OK, my party’s just right over there,”  a shockingly familiar voice answered back.

“ _Oh, shit!_ ”  Mandy and Ian said at the same time.

“ _Oh my God_ ,” said Kev, following their gaze.

“ _Oh my fucking God!_ ”  V echoed.

“Dude, I thought you died!”  Carl burst out, looking up at the man who was now standing next to their table.

Jimmy stood before them, looking as casually trying-too-hard as he ever had in his skinny jeans and striped, open collar shirt.  “Hi,” he said simply,  before his eyes locked onto to Fiona, who was staring at him in open mouthed, wide-eyed astonishment.

“Hi,”  he began.  “Lip said you’d be -”

“Bastard!” Fiona leapt to her feet and threw her drink in his face before he finished speaking.  They all had a quick moment to be glad that they were still holding their glasses when she threw herself over the top of the table to get to him.

“Hang on, Fiona, just let me explain!”  Jimmy ducked, but there was no escaping her fury.  There was a whirlwind of flying hands as she smacked him over and over as he ducked down, covering his head with his hands.

“You know, you really do have the most delightful family,”  Carlos leaned towards Ian and Mickey, watching as Fiona snatched up a menu from a nearby table and proceeded to try and beat Jimmy to death with it.

“Seriously, Lip?  You couldn’t have at least given Fiona a heads up?”  Ian snapped as he watched the proceedings.

“And miss dinner and a show?  Not a chance,”  Lip reached for the margarita pitcher and refilled his glass.  “Besides, she needed this.  Call it closure.”

Ian started to protest, but Mickey cut him off, reaching across him and retrieving the pitcher from Lip.  “Gotta say I’m with Asshole on this one.  Let your sister get it out of her system.”

“I’m impressed,”  Mandy was watching the proceedings with the rapt fascination of one ringside at a boxing match.  “I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“You don’t know my sister that well then,”  Ian told her, raising his voice to be overheard amidst the chaos surrounding him.

“Fucking kill him, Fiona!”  V was yelling.  Carl was filming again, and Debbie had her hand in her hands, muttering to herself.

“Babe, no!”  Kev was laughing, trying hard to sober his expression.  “She’s on probation!”

“Shit, that’s right!”  V jumped up.  “Move over, Fiona - I got this!”

“I’ll help!”  Tasha was trying to jump in too, but Iggy grabbed her around the waist.  

“You’re pregnant!”  

“I can still fuck a bitch up if I need to!”  she protested angrily, trying to pry his hands off of her.

“ _You’re on probation too!_ ”  

“Do I even know you two?”  Jimmy snapped at them from his crouched position, still trying to cover his head, and immediately discovered the folly of waving a red flag in front of a Milkovich and his bride to be as they both began shouting at him

“Oh, you’re going to know us, fist first - !”

“I’m going to beat you so bad they’ll put MY name on your headstone -”

Deciding enough was enough, Ian jumped to his feet, followed by Carlos and Lenny.  Together, they finally coaxed Fiona back to her seat, where she sat, teary-eyed and red-faced, glaring at Jimmy ferociously.

A person with any sense of self-preservation would have high-tailed out of there at that point with no plans to return, but Jimmy merely took the ice pack a smirking waiter brought him, applied it to his rapidly blackening eye, and took a seat across from Fiona.

“So does this mean we’re back together?”  he said hopefully.

Everyone snickered and the entire table rattled as Fiona tried to lunge across it once more.  

“I think we’d probably better call it a night,”  Ian stood up hastily and with loud agreements all around, everyone else stood up too.  The goodbyes were more hurried than they would have under other circumstances, considering everyone was anxious to get Fiona away from her erstwhile ex, who was busy proving that he was indeed as stupid as he looked by flatly refusing to leave the premises.

Still, Ian found time to clasp O’Neill’s hand and say a quiet goodbye in the corner.  “Look,” he began, hating to have to rush through something he’d wanted to say ever since Mickey had told him what happened with the DNA evidence that could have put him away for life.  “I just wanted to thank you for everything.  I mean _everything_.”

“Don’t mention it,”  ONeill grinned.  “Seriously, don’t.  Probably best if we all just forget about that.  But if you want to repay me, stay in touch.  Carlos and I would both like to see more of you guys.”

“It’s a deal,”  Ian pressed his hand once more, before joining the exodus outside.

* * *

Outside of Carlos’s restaurant, Mandy was waiting for everyone to decide how they were getting home.  After several minutes of conversation, Mickey, Ian, and Svetlana had started walking back to the apartment.  Mandy had called out that she’d be right behind them, crossing her fingers behind her back.  She just couldn’t resist sticking around to see how this Jimmy situation was going to shake out.

Kev had called a friend to drop off his truck, and was trying to pack it full of people, clown car style, when Jimmy emerged from the shadows once more.  Mandy crept forward quietly, though she by far wasn’t the only eavesdropper.

“Fiona, look,” he began as his ex-girlfriend turned to him, expression frosty.  “Look, I didn’t want to leave you, OK?  Some seriously crazy shit went down, and I would have called but - “

“But what?”  Fiona demanded.  “What stopped you?  What kind of crazy shit?”

Jimmy hesitated.  “I want to tell you.  I really do.  But you’ve heard that expression ‘if I told you, I’d have to kill you, right?’  Only I’d probably end up a little bit more dead than you.”

“Of course,”  Fiona smiled bitterly.  “More secrets and lies.  You probably even got a new name by now.”

“Uh…”  Mandy could see the flush that saturated Jimmy’s features even in the dark.

“You know what, Jimmy or whatever you’re going by now?”  Fiona stepped closer to him.  “I’m glad you came back.  Telling someone to go fuck themselves is far more satisfying in person.  And that is all I have to say to you, so you can be on your way now.”

“Fiona, come on...I came a long way just to talk to you.  Can’t you give me that?  For all we’ve shared?  Just one conversation?”

“No,”  Fiona turned away.

“OK fine, don’t talk to me.  But can I sleep on your couch for just one night?  My mother retired to Barbados and my dad’s shacking up with half the twinks in Boystown; I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go.  Plus I think Wobbles and Ghetto Spice over there are just waiting to catch me turning down a dark alley,”  he gestured towards Tasha and Iggy, who glared violently back at him.  Dexter stood beside them, looking vastly less amused by the whole situation when he realized what Jimmy had just said about his daughter.  

At least even Iggy and Tasha realized the imminent danger as Dexter stepped forward, his face thunderous, and Jimmy was spared an undoubtedly well deserved second beating as they ushered him off, disappearing down the street.

“In case I wasn’t clear the first time,”  Fiona was speaking through clearly gritted teeth, “Go fuck yourself!”  with that, she whirled around and walked away.

“Fiona, wait a second!”  Jimmy hurried after her but Fiona didn’t look back, her shoulders rigid as she climbed into Kev’s truck, crowding in besides V, Liam, and the twins.  

In the back, Sheila clung nervously to the truck bed.  “Are you sure this is safe?”  she tried to call out but Kev was already pulling out of the parking lot, causing her to shriek nervously and cling tighter.

“Dammit!”  Jimmy swore, kicking at the pebbles at his feet.  “I’m not giving up on you, Fiona!”  he yelled after the disappearing tail lights.

“Better luck next time, eh, Jimmy?”  Lip grinned at the other man’s angry expression, and putting an arm around both Debbie and Carl, he turned them around and walked away, heading in the direction of their home.

“Come on, you guys!”  Jimmy called after them, but the three of them gave no indication that they heard.

Impulsively, Mandy dialed a number on her cell, and a quick whispered conversation later, she slipped out of the shadows and waited.

Jimmy turned back to his car and stopped as he saw who was leaning on it.

“Mandy!”

Mandy smiled.  “JimmySteve,”  she returned politely, before she straightened up and walked the length of his shiny, silver car, trailing her fingers along it.  “Nice.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.  “It’ll do.  Look, did you want something?”

“How about a ride?”  Mandy blinked at him innocently.  “You can tell me all about this Fiona deal, and maybe I can give you some advice.  Or...we can just hang.  You may not have anywhere to go tonight, but that doesn’t mean you have to spend it alone,”  she held his eyes until a small returning smile played around Jimmy’s face.

“Sure,”  he unlocked the passenger side door for her before walking around to the driver’s side.  

“Where to?”  he started to ask as he slid in, attempting to close the door.  A hand reached out and grabbed it before he could.  Jimmy blanched as an impossibly handsome young man climbed in after him, forcing Jimmy over until he was nearly straddling the gearshift.

“Shit, Mandy, we’re being jacked - get the hell out of here - ! “ Jimmy started, and stopped abruptly when his unwelcome third wheel leaned over him to grab Mandy, pulling her to him for a long embrace.

“Hey, baby,” he said when he sat back.  “Thanks for calling me.”

“Hey, Antonio, thanks for coming,”  Mandy grinned back at him.

“Are you kidding me?”  Jimmy groaned.  “You two are rolling me?  Cute.  Take the fucking car.  Not like I actually paid for it anyway.  Just let me out here and leave me enough cash to call a taxi,”  he started to dig out his wallet but Antonio grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back.  

“Get in the back, pendejo.”

“Come on, you guys - “  Jimmy started to protest.

Antonio cut him off with an impatient growl.  “Mandy says you stay, and what my girl says goes.”

“Since when am I your girl?”  Mandy snorted, locking the doors and looking out the window for witnesses.

“Aw, baby, cut me some slack.  I’m working on it,”  Antonio grinned at her before he turned back to Jimmy.  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Dammit!”  Jimmy climbed into the backseat as Antonio started the car, pulling smoothly out of the alley and onto the street. “What the fuck is going on?”

Mandy looked back at him.  “See, JimmySteve, thing is, I kinda owe Fiona a favor.  I’m thinking that escorting your unwanted ass out of town is going to go a long way in wiping that slate clean,”  she turned to face him more fully, smiling widely.  “So, how do you feel about Canada?”

“Oh, _shit…_ ”  Jimmy slumped down in the back.  

“Road trip, baby!”  Antonio crowed, taking one hand off the steering wheel to turn the radio on and blare the music. As the speakers pounded, Antonio pressed the gas pedal nearly to the floor and they roared towards the freeway, Mandy’s laughter filling the car.

* * *

Ian stared at the text message on his phone, blinking his eyes several times to make sure he was reading it right. “ **‘Going to Canada - be back soon!’** “ he read aloud.  “Mickey, why is your sister going to Canada?”  

“Weak extradition treaty?”  Mickey shrugged.  “Food with French labels?  Fuck if I know,”  he shifted positions slightly, lying on his back next to Ian on the living room floor of their apartment.  Above them, a thick layer of smoke made its own cloud formation.  Ian was staring up at it dreamily, Mandy’s text forgotten for the moment.

“This is good shit,”  Svetlana’s throaty voice sounded from above them, where she was stretched out on the couch, indicating the joint clutched in her fingers. “Maybe your brother should introduce his new farmer family to his type of growing.  He will be rich in no time; support us all.”

Ian chuckled, reaching for the joint.  Svetlana handed it to him and then sat up.  Next thing Mickey knew, he was being smacked in the face with the half eaten bag of Cheetos she’d tossed at him.  

“I am going to bed.  Do not eat all of the ponchiki,”  Svetlana leaned down to kiss Ian’s cheek, snagging the joint back from him in the process, and exchanged mutual one-fingered salutes with Mickey, their usual goodnight, before retreating to her bedroom and closing the door behind her.

“Hey!”  Ian said belatedly.

“Don’t worry about it,”  Mickey produced a fresh joint with the deft flair of a magician displaying a hidden card.  

“Mickey, do you ever think about what you want to do with your life?”  Ian asked suddenly as Mickey lit the new joint, inhaled quickly, and passed it to him.

“Jesus, have we already reached the philosophical portion of tonight’s high?”  Mickey grumbled.  

“No, I’m serious.  You gotta think about it sometimes.  Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“Christ, Ian, do we really have to -”  Mickey broke off at Ian’s earnest puppy dog eyes.  “You want the truth?”

“Yeah,”  Ian nodded.

“OK.  I see myself with you in five years.  The rest is just details, man.”

Ian beamed at this.  He started to say something but Mickey waved him off impatiently.  “I’m not high enough for the sappy shit, OK?  Give me a while.  Anyway, I got something to tell you. I didn’t want to say anything in front of my ballbuster in there,”  Mickey nodded towards Svetlana’s closed door, “but Kev told me today he wants to sell me a piece of the bar.  At least 25%.”

“Seriously?”  Ian turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look Mickey in the face.  “Like, he’d put your name on it for real?  You’d be co-owners?”

“Yeah,”  Mickey sighed then.  “Probably just a pipe dream though.  Place is always in the red; would be a battle to hang on to it.  Plus I gotta have some serious cash to buy into it.”

“True,”  Ian agreed and turned his head slightly, waiting for Mickey to continue.

“It would be nice though, you know?  To actually have something like the Alibi, even if I gotta share it with Kev.  Like, in five years, maybe we could be 50/50.  I can’t be a pimp forever. I mean by then Svetlana and I should be able to get divorced without her being put on the next boat out.  Figure she could get the whores in the divorce settlement, I’ll take the bar, and we’ll share Geno.  I mean, it could work.  If I could figure out a way to raise the money.”

“If we could figure out a way to raise the money,”  Ian corrected.  “We’re in this together, remember?”  he thought for a moment, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “Could set up some more married guys, you know, like we did in that hotel.  Pick a few high rollers and make the score big.”

“Nah, too risky,”  Mickey took back the joint.  “We got lucky with that one asshole.  Most rich guys got security and knee-breakers on the payroll.  Besides, I don’t like using you as bait.”

“Who says it has to be me?  You’re not exactly repellent, in case Scott and Roger didn’t prove that point already,”  Ian grinned at Mickey’s expression, especially enjoying the faintest tint of a blush in his boyfriend’s skin.  

“Shut up.  And again, no.  We gotta come up with something else.”  

“Well,’ Ian considered, “We could sell Frank’s remaining organs on the black market.  I mean, he’s already got one kidney out there, right?”

“Funny,”  Mickey snorted.  “Nobody wants the charred remnants of your father’s lifetime of epic imbibing.  Bet that dumb fucker that got his kidney got his expiration date too.  No wonder your dad always seems to get another chance; he’s like a fucking vampire leeching off the life force of everyone around him,” he thought for a moment.  “I know!  We’ll take a page out of his book and make some money off the kid.”

“Geno?”  Ian said in surprise.

“Yeah, Geno.  He looks like he came right off the fucking Gerber label.  Might as well take advantage of it.  Start a website with his face all over it, claim he’s got some disease or something, watch the donations come rolling in.”

“Nice,”  Ian rolled his eyes and moved closer.  “Here’s a thought.  Instead of selling out your kid, since doing something Frank would do is always a sure way to get fucked up fast, why don’t we...I don’t know...just get jobs or something?”

“We have jobs,”  Mickey snorted.  “Your minimum wage chump change and my pussy profits aren’t going to get it done.”

“Better jobs,”  Ian persisted.  “I mean, I’m not going to school for nothing.  I still don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but it’s gonna be something that gets me somewhere.  You could do that too, you know.”

“What, go _legit_?”  Mickey stared at him.  “Why the fuck would I want to do that?  Be some wage slave who earns just enough to funnel his 30% right back to the tax man?  And even after Uncle Sam jerks us off without the happy ending, we still gotta pay out for fucking healthcare and college and every fucking other thing too.  If there’s going to be robbery in my life, I’m gonna be the one doing it, thank you.”

“So fucking cynical,”  Ian shook his head.  “Come on, Mickey.  It’s like you said.  Can’t be a pimp forever.  I’m not saying you’re wrong about the price of going legit, but at least that way you don’t have the threat of impending imprisonment shadowing your every move.  Besides, if you don’t like the way things are for the working man, do something about it.  Take on The Man.  Fight the power!”

“Fight the - seriously, Ian?”

“Be the change you want to see!  Start with the man in the mirror!”  

“I’m never letting you get high again,”  Mickey grumbled.

“You’re not the boss of me!”  Ian retorted and immediately began laughing again.  After a moment he brought himself under control.  “Seriously, why not?  You were all for Mandy going back to school.  What do you think she’s going to do with that, huh?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”  Ian challenged.  “It’s good for everyone else but not you?  You can get your GED and take a couple of business management courses.  If you’re going to own part of a bar, you might as well know how to run it, right?  And with a GED, you could probably get a slightly less shitty job than doing security for your local stop n’ rob, too.   It’ll help us come up with the money for Kev, right?”

“Fucking hell,”  MIckey rubbed his eyes.  “You’re actually dragging me into the world of degrees and taxes.  Next you’ll want a little dog with a fucking sweater.”

Ian poked his stomach.  “If it makes you feel better, we’ll scam the money to pay for the community college courses.”

“A little,”  Mickey admitted.  

Ian laughed at that.  “You ready for bed?”  he asked after another long moment where the silence lingered comfortably enough to feel like a warm blanket.

“I’m ready for a lot of things,”  Mickey rolled over on his side, blue eyes suddenly animated.

“Yeah,”  Ian pulled Mickey to his feet.  “You really are,”  he murmured in agreement, pressing himself closer.

MIckey groaned at that.  “Oh come on.  That wasn’t supposed to be all metaphorical and shit,” he continued to protest as they stumbled towards their bedroom, arms around each other waists.

“And yet…”  Ian let the sentence trail off, no need to fill in the blanks just yet.  The pieces would come together in time.

After all, it was all in the details.

 

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to ZebraWallpaper for all her pre-reading and support. <3
> 
> So this is really it! I'm sorry it took so long; I blame both life and my reluctance to close the chapter on this story that I've had so much fun writing. I want to thank you all once more for coming on this journey with me. All your comments and kudos have meant the world. I really hope that Semi-Charmed Life has ended in a good place for all of you, as well as me.
> 
> And if Svetlana's part of the story seems a bit unfinished; that's because it is. Her tale will continue to unfold in The Russian; check it out if you're so inclined.
> 
> Thank you again SO MUCH and as always, feedback is appreciated!


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